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bowieandqueen11 · 7 months

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Sanji With A Clingy Reader Would Include...

Request: OH BABY telling about one piece is like unlocking a whole second heart of mine i have fully for that anime and manga and live action. and so, if you ever decided of course, you writing something similar to something you did on marvel once and sanji with reader that has no personal space and is touchy would be amazing. but also... kissing zoro is great to, if you ever decided? anyway! HOPE YOU LOVE IT (one piece i mean), and if not ignore me UwU

Ooh yess babes this is so SWEET!! :3 I LOVED IT omg hello to my latest obsession not me ordering the first collection of the manga

This was really sweet and fun to do, but I did stay up all night writing it so all comments are much appreciated!

Warning: slightly spicy, some mentions of fighting!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @fanpageknight.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Look at this man. Seriously, look at this man with his little bottom lip bite and eyes like the sun shines heavily out of them and tell me he would be anything less than absolutely madly, heart wrenchingly, soul crushingly enthralled with a clingy reader??? That's right you can't take the l on this one.

It all started that day when the three of you ended up shipwrecked on that sad sack excuse of a rock. When you and Sanji huddled on one side of the forsaken isle to stay away from the terrifying Pirate Zeff. His hands had shaken as he drew them up to his chest, but he mustered the nerves to string open the sack Zeff had thrown at his feet. Once he had counted out the cans, he offered all the food to you.

He wanted you to stay alive far more than himself. Ever since you had landed on his ship he had been smitten, and his weary heart would beat its last under this smothering sun as long as you would live on for the both of them.

To keep him calm: to stop his gasping, tortured heaves as he tried his best not to writhe in panic at the thought of never stepping back on safe land again, you would spent most of those 85 days sitting over the cragged edges. Sanji couldn't tear his eyes away from peering down at the gushing shards of stone below that seemed to rip up in tides and tear for his swinging feet; to try and distract him from sniffling any longer, your hand would tentatively creep over the rock until it landed flatly, and unceremoniously on top of his own. His fingers flexed beneath your own, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he folded them upwards, giving your hand a shaking squeeze: a dutiful promise, a flitting confession of love, that you just happened not to feel in your ruminations of the circumstances.

In fact, he asked you that night, in an uncharacteristically quiet and bashful voice, if you would keep his nightmares away by holding him like his mother used to. You felt terrible: you were so stunned that for a moment you stood with the last piece of mouldy bread you had in your hand in shocked silence. Poor Sanji thought you were about to reject him outright: throw what little he had left of his heart - that he had so carefully lifted out and placed in his hands to offer to you, only to have it thrown back to his feet in the usual ridicule he got for his love. His bottom lip began to tremble, until you nearly knocked him onto his bottom with how fast you dropped everything and flew over to lock him in a tight hug, not minding the fact that your shoulder was growing wetter and wetter despite the brewing rain each time Sanji buried his snivelling head against it.

So you would let him rest safely in the bracket of your arms: his left cheek resting in the warm stretch between your collar bone and your neck, his right hand draped leisurely around your waist as you told him stories of pirates and treasure: of the Deep Blue and tropical fish that shone like bursts of fragmented starlight every time their fins graced the water. Although he would groan any time you removed your hand from where you were stroking the wet strands of his hair back from his forehead, it was quickly replaced with wonderment as you would point up at a cluster of stars and whisper excitedly: 'look, there's some now!'

He had never been afraid of nights ever since that moment, not when the stars were still out and he could trace with the butt of his cigarettes the fish you had drawn specially for him in the skies. It was like a secret message: a lover's reminder that he was never alone. That you were always with him. That your beauty - your light, it shone everywhere, no matter where he was.

It was the first time he had kissed you, two forgotten children lost underneath the dripping crevice of your little hideaway. As your belly began to rise and fall underneath his elbow, and he believed you had exhausted yourself out after trying to make him feel better, he dared to dart up from your shoulder and press his lips firmly against your cheek. It had been quick, almost gliding past time like a dolphin leaping up out of the water, but it had meant so much to him that he curled up into a ball in your side and flushed a bright cerise, having to shove his fist into his mouth to stop his manic giggling from waking you up.

But you weren't asleep, and as Sanji settled back into your neck with a smile bright enough to rival the shine of buttercup petals, you swore as he began to drift off in the first peaceful dream he had had in years that one day you would return the favour, but in full.

The two of you were thick as thieves growing up, to the point where Zeff became so distracted by your antics that he often tried to separate the two of you by making you work the floor and Sanji either in the kitchens, or off fishing at the docks. Ten seconds later though, he'd be kicking through the kitchen doors again to find you leaning on the kitchen counter next to an eager faced Sanji, whose to busy to register Zeff's shouting. Instead he places the spoon to your lips, having spent half of lunch service prep cooking you a brand new recipe he had spent the whole night creating out of a medley of your favourite foods. He subconsciously licks his bottom lip, the tension in the room felt by the other chefs who try to carry on washing pans and cutting vegetables enough to put everyone on edge as Sanji refused to look anywhere but your lips. Holding his hand under your chin, his dipped eyes were broken by a sudden grin as a loud 'mmhhh' left your mouth and you chewed in sweet bliss.

Still ignoring Zeff's increasingly erratic rant, as Sanji goes to start cleaning up his pan you slide down to stand behind him, wrapping your arms tightly around your back and jutting your chin into his shoulder blade like a baby koala. You can tell he's laughing silently by the way his shoulders shake against you, but all he does is pull up your hand from his belly button to press sweet, dainty kisses up and down the lengths of your fingers, before dropping it down to press your palm flatly against his heart.

'I think that might be your greatest dish yet, buttercup!'

'From you, that means everything my precious heart.'

'Why do you call me that?', you murmur, refusing to lift your lips from his shirt.

'Well my sweet love, why do you call me buttercup? I mean, I always know I smell of butter and the likes-'.

He's distracted by your snort against the side of his neck, but the two of you are too love-strikingly embarrassed to say anything again. Even if neither of you could see the warm peach rushing up both your cheeks, Zeff could. He could also hear the padding thuds of Sanji's heart as he gripped his fingers that almost imperceptibly bit tighter around your hand, and he found himself sighing at how oblivious you two idiots were.

Sanji is definitely just as clingy as you, if not more so. You've definitely met your match in this man. I mean, any time you're out on the floor, handing out bread to tables and scanning the room to check if there were any patrons you may have to throw out by the scuff of their collars later, his eyes are trained on yours. He leans against the banisters, not even trying to remotely hide how obviously he's tracing your path with a dumbstruck, lit up smile. If you're in the kitchens, desperately trying to bite your tongue and not tear Zeff a new one as he chops his hands together and rushes you to plate up? He's sliding up to your side in an instant, throwing scathing looks at the man while trying to help you spoon thyme onto your bass, nuzzling the side of his head into yours encouragingly. If you have any free time at all? Sanji is fast on your heels, darting after you like someone's firing shots at his dress shoes, as if you have his heart tied to a string on your wrist as he seeks out whatever nook you're going to relax in. It doesn't matter if you're at the bar, watching the docks, or trying to hide from Zeff in one of the cupboards in the pantry: Sanji is squatting down and grunting as he shoves himself in right next to you. He sits criss cross, only satisfied when at least one of his knees is resting heavily over yours, and he has full access to watch what you're reading over the side of your neck.

He only fully settles, though, if you touch him in some way. He genuinely will begin mewling once your hand reaches over to brush your knuckles over his jawline, or your hand finds itself guided to bunch itself up in his hair. One time, he guided your hand into his lap, and you began to absentmindedly stroke your pointer finger along the seam of his inner thigh. Thank goodness you had your head buried in a book one of the pirate crews had come to swap some dried meats with you for, because it took every muscle in Sanji's body twitching: every finger clenching and unclenching into his knee until he drew blood not to knock you flat right there and then and kiss you like there was no tomorrow.

He gets a MASSIVE nosebleed - so gushing, in fact, that he tries to reassure you he's fine as you hold him by the elbows and lead his tilted back head and pinched nose down to Zeff for some help.

It becomes a very major recurring issue every time he looks at you. He makes sure to carry a handkerchief in his breast pocket from then on.

God, if he didn't love you more than anything in all the seas. If you weren't the only one that he let see past his charming nature: if you weren't the only person left in his life that truly could recognise the young boy left in his eyes, in his gait, in his smile, in his dreams. That little kid on that great big ship, the one who had found you stowed away behind one of the barrels of rum, and instead of calling for the crew had taken your trembling hand and led you into the kitchens, introducing you as his newest sous chef. That same kid, who stood beside you and held your hand so gently, so heartbreakingly gently under his as he guided you through lessons of chopping onions and sautéing garlic, breaking out into long strings of rushed, praising French every time you got it right. The same one, who would frown as if he were the one who had been hurt any time you burnt your hands or sliced your fingers. Who would unravel the knot at the back of his apron, and tug it over his head to carefully place it over yours.

'This always brings me luck', he would say as his fingers daintily tucked the strings underneath your shirt collar. 'But I don't need it anymore, because you've brought me all the luck and happiness a man could ever dream of, my cherie.'

The same kid who would tip toe out of his bed to sneak down to your hammock, crawling in and burying himself underneath your blankets where you slept in the brig, telling you fantastical stories about his mother until you fell sound asleep. He would watch you from where he lay on his side, hands folded by your head, as if you had hung every star in the wide skies. He would brush his fingers over the edge of your cheek and curl up beside you, wishing that every minute of every day of the rest of his life could be spent with you.

Yeah, smitten wasn't enough to cover it. Only destiny could be raw enough to draw the two of you to each other, Sanji always thought.

As teenagers, you would end every shift outside, sitting on the wonky boards of one of the jutted docks. Just sitting side by side, as you always wanted to be, pretending you weren't playing a game of chicken as the two of you teased and pressed and glanced your fingers over each other's, leaning back and looking up at the stars. Sanji always appreciated the better chance it gave him: shrouded in naught by wisps of moonlight and the rare flashing neon of ship string lights, to take you in as much as he could. You didn't mind the fact that he spent the whole time staring over at you. In fact, if you hadn't been so lovestruck, you might have found the courage to tear your head away from the horizon to meet the look of gut-wrenching devotion that always seemed to pour out of his eyes and beam only on you. It always felt like warm sunlight, sitting next to him, and so you finally dared a chance at grabbing his fingers and intertwining them between your own, pretending it was because of the sea chill spraying a fine mist over your legs.

Again, the squeeze he gave your hand was almost, almost imperceptible, but you felt it this time. And you could feel the look of enduring devotion he pierced into your skin, a warm tingle washing like a spring tide through your tired body.

He always knew. He always knew that if he had stayed on that rock, he would have been content to. Happy, even. Because he would have been with you.

'I love you', he said without words. He gave your hand another squeeze. 'I'm going to love you forever. No matter how many lifetimes. No matter who I am. I'm always going to find you, and I'm always going to love you.'

His voice nearly made you jump, surprising you at how it started with his usual buttery smoothness, before cracking with a thick gulp as his words trailed of. 'Never leave without me.'

'I promise, as long as you don't leave without me.'

He shakes his head. 'You never leave me. Not even for a moment.'

Sometimes, when the two of you are older, he still comes stealing into your room at night, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as his lips wobble into a frightened frown. Turns out, as he draws the covers back and comes reaching in for you, he had another nightmare that pirates had come to steal you away from him again. With an aching sigh for how stricken he looked, how desolate, you let him claw at your shirt and bury his head into the side of your neck until the rest of the world melted away.

He kissed you again, that night. When the feel of his legs strewn familiarly between your own began to burn against his skin, and the weight of hand perched over his thrumming heart became too heavy to bear in secret. With nothing but the light streaming like shards of pearly stars through the porthole to betray a moment so special, so longed for, Sanji let his eyelashes flutter close as he slowly... slowly pressed his lips against your cheek again.

This time, his eyes widened in shock as the feeling of your hand gripping at his jaw and turning his face straight on to your own. Before he can even open his mouth in confusion, the sweet pressure of your lips pressed against his top one. For a moment, Sanji doesn't move an inch: doesn't even breath, not even processing that the thing he’s spent every moment of his waking and sleeping life wishing for ever since he found you on that boat was actually happening, right here right now. He tries really hard to stop his whole body from shaking, as his silky lashes finally falter shut against the top of your cheeks and he tries to focus his whole attention on the way your plush lip seems to press so perfectly against his own.

When he finally pulls away, he lets out a loud 'OW' as he pinches his arm.

'What did you do that for!?'

'I had to double check this wasn't a dream, my sweets!'

And then he's on you again, like a ravished man gasping for air. God, he wasn't sure if soulmates were real, but when your top lip pulled down against his, and he could feel the thud of your heart synch against his own beneath the tips of his fingers, if he didn't know that he was yours.

He stays in your room a lot more often after that, using it as an excuse for you to help him button up his shirt during sleepy mornings, smiling at the feel of your fingers as they knocked against the muscles of his chest. It was also his favourite part of the day - the good morning kiss the two of you shared before you raced down to be at your shifts before Zeff decided to knock your heads together.

One time you forgot to give him one, too distracted by one of the sous chefs busting into your room with a bloodied nose and a chipped front tooth, whistling through the gap as he begged you to come down to the main foyer and help him break out a fist fight that had started between two gangs of rival pirates. The pout on Sanji's face that day was enough to make even the most bounty-heavy pirate's knees tremble. Every other chef steered way clear of his station, watching the arch of his back and the jaw in his muscle jump as he busied himself by frying his steak of tuna, so gutted at the loss of just one kiss. Not angry, no: just grief stricken, because this man seriously just adores you that much.

When you finally get your lunch break, the first thing you do is throw your napkin down on the kitchen ground and grab Sanji by his suit collar, enjoying the surprise tilt of his head as he drops his spoon onto his serving tray and allows you to lead his feet backwards to the fire exit. As soon as he's outside, you slam him gently against the wooden beams of the Baratie restaurant, and kissed him silly to make up for it. His look of trusting confusion suddenly melt into jumping heart eyes when your knee slides up between his thighs to try and pin him in place. His breathing comes out in harsh, shallow gasps between ferocious kisses, and you have to press him back against the wall every time he comes arching forward to follow your head for even more kisses. No, this was about you making him feel good. And by goodness, as your tongue pressed against the seam of his lips and tentatively ran over his front teeth, if he wasn't two seconds away from falling to his knees right there and then.

When you let him go, he slides down the wall like putty until he's sitting with legs stretched out and both his suit and hair a ruffled mess. He's literally never been more deliriously happy in his whole life.

Your favourite time of the day is when the restaurant closes, and the two of you finally have the kitchens to yourselves. Once you've tossed your aprons back onto the rack with a tired sigh, the only thing that can cheer you up is the sound of Sanji kicking his chair back with the toe of his shoe, and the sight of him beckoning you over to him with that tilted head and pearly beam of his. Mmh, how safe you feel, how loved as you collapse down to sit on his knees, and he tucks you in between the brackets of his arms in a vice so tight it could match any Marine knot.

You take one of his hands off the pen he was holding, turning his palm round to face you so you could fiddle with the rings he was wearing. You draw one up, curling his finger before your eyes, before slotting one off and sliding it onto your own ring finger. It was the one his father had given him: one he so loathed to wear, and yet felt guilt bore down too heavily on his conscious to ever take it off. You turned the one on top of it, one you know Zeff had given him after his first day working at the Baratie, and you smiled at the memory.

'You know', you start, still fiddling with his hand, feeling him shift his thighs as you pressed a gentle kiss on the pointer finger you were currently grasping onto. 'I may just have to keep this one.'

'Oh yeah?', he says dreamily, and you could feel his grin growing as he hid his burning face in the nape of your neck. 'Don't worry sweetheart. One day, once I find the perfect one, I'll give you a ring of your own.'

The two of you sneak out and share cigarettes out the back door a lot, where Sanji steps forward and kisses you like a man possessed every time you pinch the stub from out of his mouth and draw it along your bottom lip teasingly. When you try to get him to go back in, he just wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you up, spinning you around to stop you from leaving him alone. Laughing, you try to shove him off, swatting at the hands that form a tight clasp over your belly button, until his large fingers finally slide down to hold your waist. You glance behind you, smirking at the way his eyes are tightly shut in euphoria as ducks down, chest nearly enveloping in his desperation to reach your face again. His kisses become sloppier: smoke stained as they leave wet trails up your jaw, before he finally gives in and tries to make you laugh one last time by nibbling at the lobe of your ear.

Whenever he has a fight with Zeff, you have to hold him afterwards. The feel of your fingers curling the hair at the nape of his neck, or rubbing soothing circles into the sore muscles of his shoulders stops the furious darts of air from flaring his nostrils almost immediately.

Man has blaring heart eyes 100% whenever he's in a fight with rowdy customers, and you get to kick the flashy knife out of the last one's hand before the pirate could launch straight for Sanji's neck. He tilts his head at you with those amazed eyes, a gentle smile growing almost shyly on his face like a secret wink, before he throws his now empty plate at the pirate trying to sneak up behind your back. The crash echoes out through the booth area, a cry so furious: so full of rage that anyone would try and dare hurt you, that it makes all the remaining pirate crews crawl out towards the door on their hands and knees.

Stitching each other up afterwards is a motherfcking mess though, that Zeff straight up just abandons all hope of being able to use his kitchen. With a defeated rub of his pounding temples, he lets the door slam shut on his heel because he just can't deal with the two of you. He'd much rather pick up a brush and start sweeping bits of crushed and splattered asparagus off the floors than have to watch you to battle it out in a stiff competition of who could be more sickeningly, maddingly in love with the other. Between you standing between Sanji's entrapping thighs, closing you in tighter so you could have full access to kiss his bobbing Adam's apple as you use a rag to swipe bits of dry sauce off his neck, and him throwing his head back and whimpering, Zeff was going to go insane. Even worse, as soon as you're finished, Sanji's reaching between your fingers to lick split consomme off your nose.

The two of you are literally insufferable, and if every one apart from Zeff doesn't find it the cutest thing I-

When Luffy comes and wrangles Sanji into joining his crew, the chef's first thought is to be distraught. He seeks you out straight away, nearly breaking some poor fisherman's pole as he tries to hurdle over it and grip onto your shoulders, making you drop the barrel of dried meats you were carrying from Luffy onto the planks and watching Luffy nearly dangle off the edge of his ship to stop it from rolling into the ocean.

'Y/n- I- I can't go!'

'You're hardly scared!'

'I'm not scared of going, I'm terrified of going without you!'

You let him pour his heart out for a moment, before stopping his rambling, near sobbing mess of a sentence by bopping the tip of his nose. You giggle, swiping some hair from his forehead. 'Sanji, Luffy asked me to come first. I promised I wouldn't go without you, and I meant it.'

You manage to unlatch his twitching hand from your left shoulder, and give it an almost imperceptible squeeze. The tears that threatened to fall from his eyes finally cascade down, although he's so relieved that he's smiling through the blurriness. You swipe them away with your free thumb, finally, after all these years, feeling the squeeze of your hand that Sanji gives you back, before he envelops you in a breath taking hug.

'Awww, you guys are so sweet!', Luffy calls out from where he's hanging by his sandal off the railing of his ship. 'But could someone give me a hand before my hat falls into the waves? That would not be very cool.'

The first thing the two of you do once you're on The Going Merry is to find your bunk. Sanji isn't very subtle when he kicks your door shut with his heel, and comes scampering towards you like an upended sand crab, pinching for you until he's hefted you up over his shoulder and has unceremoniously landed you in your shared hammock. He's quick to jump in, straddling you as the hammock sways back and forth with the commotion.

He nearly starts crying again when he sees a flash of silver poke out from underneath your neckline; he grazes his hand over the chain, recognising it as his father's ring you had taken months ago. The one he had hated so much. The one you had tried to save him from. A small piece of him. A weight you tried to bear for him. A reminder of how much he was loved.

A confused Zoro, not realising there are new crew members on board, follows the sound of Sanji's voice crooning out how much he adores you, and how he loves you more than every star in the sky, down past the window on your bedroom door. Let's just say, he's not very impressed when he catches sight of the hammock swinging wildly from side to side, and an array of clothes thrown out and discarded in a mess around it.

#one piece #sanji #one piece imagine #sanji imagine #sanji x reader #sanji headcanons #opla #monkey d luffy #zoro #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji imagine #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji headcanons

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thatwritergirlsblog · 1 year

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Advice for Creating a Magic System

As a fantasy author, I thought I'd share my 5 tips for creating a captivating magic system.

1. Are you writing low fantasy or high fantasy?

Firstly, it's good to know from the get-go whether you're creating a magic system for a low fantasy or high fantasy story.

Low fantasy doesn't necessarily mean there are less fantastical elements or that the story has to take place in a version of the real world. Low fantasy simply indicates that the fantasy elements/magic is not commonplace in that world. Magic and other fantasy elements exist, but only a privy few know about it.

Examples of low fantasy stories include Harry Potter by She Who Shall Not be Named, the Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare, Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo, Twilight by Stephenie Meyer and my book To Wear A Crown.

High fantasy, on the other hand, indicates that the fantastical elements and magic are known about and commonplace in that world. The people of the world know that magic exists, that there are fantastical beings, other races etc.

Examples of high fantasy stories include Eragon by Christopher Paolini, Crescent City by Sarah J Maas, The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R Tolkien, and Red Queen by Victoria Aveyard.

2. Hard magic systems vs soft magic systems

The next thing that's vital to decide is whether you're creating a hard or soft magic system.

A hard magic system has built-in limitations. There are certain things that magic can do and that's it. Examples of stories with hard magic systems include Avatar: The Last Airbender and Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo.

A soft magic system doesn't have inherent limitations in relation to what it can achieve. Examples of soft magic systems include Eragon, Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings.

3. What can magic do?

Now that you know whether you're writing low or high fantasy, and whether you're working with a hard or soft magic system, it's time to create some magic!

This is the part where I can't give you too much guidance, because it's all about your creativity.

What do you want magic to look like in your story? What do you want magic to be able to achieve? How big of a role do you want magic to play in the story and your characters' lives?

Do you want different classes of magic wielders, each with mastery over their own element? Do you want magic to be a flexible tool that can be used to achieve almost anything? Do you want your magic to be limited to telepathic actions or creating portals? Do you want different people to have power over different aspects of nature or different magical disciplines?

Can wielders use magic without any tools, or do they need spells, runes or rituals?

The possibilities are endless, but it's important to establish exactly what magic is capable of in your world.

4. How does it work and where does it come from?

Now we know what the magic can do. Next up is why it can do those things. Where does the power of the magic come from and how do wielders command it?

Does the power/force of magic come from within the wielder? Does it draw from inner life force and energy? Does it draw on energy from another realm or dimension? Does it pull from the surrounding natural elements? Does the power come from a deity or from demonic forces?

Identify the source/origin of the magic.

From there, elaborate on how it works. How does a wielder access the source of the magic? Is it through strength of will, incantations, selling their soul etc.?

For example, let's say that the power of your world's magic comes from the cosmic energy of another dimension. In order for wielders to access that energy, they draw specific sigils on their skin and these sigils act as portals to that world. Once the sigil is complete, the cosmic power flows into the wielder and they can now command it.

5. The limitations

Very importantly, you have to be clear on the limitations of your magic system. Fantasy magic systems often fall flat because they don't have clear confines.

If you're writing a hard magic system, this step is a bit easier, since there are inherent restrictions on what magic can do. With soft magic systems, you have to decide just how much magic is capable of.

But whether you're writing a hard or soft magic system, you need to consider the cost of using magic.

Does the use of magic drain the wielder's energy? Does each instance of using magic darken the wielder's soul or deteriorate their body further? Does using magic damage the natural world around the wielder or drain others of their life force?

Magic without a cost, limitations or consequences just isn't as captivating.

Reblog if you liked these tips. Comment with your own advice. Follow me for similar content.

#write #writing #writeblr #writing advice #writer #writing tips #writing fantasy #writers on tumblr #fantasci tumblr

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kozachenko · 3 months

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I swear to god, Zanmu has just been on my mind recently, she's taking over my fucking brain please send help

Artist's Note:

Why is it that everytime I do a drawing of Zanmu I always make the canvas size fucking huge and it ends up being a living nightmare to fucking export. I swear to god I had to go from 1200 DPI to 600 to 350.

Exporting hell aside, I loved working on this piece. With Zanmu's design, I wanted to combine all the design details that I love and have seen in other people's drawings of Zanmu and give them my own personal touches. First of all, her sleeves were inspired by @amemenojaku's design for Zanmu, and I absolutley love that detail because not only does it make her feel more regal, it also can be a callback to Satori and old hell, and also gives me the idea that Satori's fashion sense was inspired by Zanmu because IRL a lot of historical fashion was inspired by what the nobles were wearing at the time, and since Satori was around since when Old Hell used to be Hell, she probably took some wardrobe inspo from her (or it could be my headcanon that Satori could've been Zanmu's royal advisor or she was in her court or something but that theory is kinda grasping at strings from other headcanons I have, but that's for a different post). Also, the eye makeup she has was inspired by @jothelion's drawings of Zanmu, and like, I fucking love that detail because it just adds so much like omg I just love it sm.

And now for the design details I put in. I gave Zanmu tassel earrings because I think they'd look great on her. I also really like to exaggerate her hair and really try to make it look wild, as well as having little grey hairs here and there. I also try to add some wrinkles to the corners of her eyes, but TBH I don't know how visible that detail is, since the image is pretty fucking big. I also really exaggerated the tassles/strings on her outfit, since I really wanted to play around with the potential flow they could have. Also, big fan of giving Zanmu longer sleeves and pants. IDK why but I just like how it flows better. Also big fan of making her taller, idk why a lot of fanart makes her short. Also, I placed her horns closer to the front of her head as I just think placing horns in that position looks cool.

Also, if you're wondering about the halo, I took some inspiration from a few of Caravaggio's paintings where he often depicts saints with this very thin halo around the top of their heads. I just liked that detail a lot so I thought I'd include it.

Fun fact, I was originally gonna make the four skeletons Chiyari, Biten, Enoko, and Hisami but I didn't like the prospect of having to draw four more characters, so I chose to replace them with skeletons (if you wanna get silly with it, Zanmu got Hisami to kidnap Aya, set up some skeletons with bones from her bone collection and told her to take a picture of her).

I kinda gave up on Zanmu's feet and the one skeleton's hands (as if drawing hands normally is hard enough but NOPE, HAD TO MAKE IT LIVING HELL FOR MYSELF BY MAKING IT A SKELETON) and the quality of the image may suffer because of how much I had to fucking compress it (Zanmu's presence alone was enough to make the computer lose all of it's desire and motivation to export the drawing of her lmao), but I have been hacking at this piece for a while now, plus I need to learn when to call it quits when it comes to drawings). Also as I was fixing up the hands there was one spot where I forgot to clean up with the sketch and I can't fucking unsee that now and it's going to fucking bother me until I fix it but fixing it requires going back and putting my computer through hell so yeah.

So yeah, that's about all I have to say with this drawing, it was fun but also a nightmare lol

#art #touhou project #fanart #touhou fanart #touhou 19 #unfinished dream of all living ghost #zanmu nippaku #touhou #東方project #東方

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lattaeyongs · 10 months

Text

the trojan horse (hrj)

original gif

↳ pairing: huang renjun x reader

↳ word count: 19.6k

↳ genre: royalty!au, historical (late 1700s)!au, arranged marriage!au, heavy angst, fluff, smut

↳ summary: in which the boy you fall in love with isn’t who you think he is.

↳ warnings: character death, political unrest, violence, nudity, explicit sexual content (oral, penetration, switch!renjun, switch!reader, cum play), may contain historical inaccuracies

↳ a/n: influenced heavily by the events of the french revolution.

1791

Ominously, the large, mahogany doors of the Royal Court open. Two guards tightly grip the arms of a shadow, and as the three slowly approach the center of the room, you realize it is a middle-aged, disheveled, pitiful-looking man who wouldn’t put up much of a fight against the guards anyway.

Across a large table sit the Members of the Royal Court. They include some barons and earls, along with religious leaders. Your father, the King, sits at the center, looking especially royal in his brand-new purple robes, and you sit by his side, your fingers intertwined together neatly.

“Order!” Your father announces loudly to the Court. The barons and lords’ chatters die, and the room is silent.

“Name?” Asks the King.

“Kim Donghyun,” the man says. He is practically just skin and bones, and it makes you think about how you’ve never gone a day without having three exquisite meals.

You guiltily avoid his gaze; he doesn’t notice. His attention is toward the King. Due to the days of sitting in a dungeon in utter darkness waiting for his trial and sentencing, he has to blink a few times to get adjusted to the bright light in the Court.

“What is your crime?”

Kim Donghyun takes a deep breath. You observe him intently, and you notice how he is practically quaking in fear at being in front of the King. The only time a peasant like him would ever be graced with the presence of the King is when it is nothing good at all.

Being tried in front of the Royal Court constitutes as ‘nothing good at all.’

“Theft,” he says in a small voice. At his fear, the King looks at him in disdain. Kim Donghyun knows that his time is limited, and he won’t die without a shred of dignity.

He raises his voice. “I did it for my family.”

“Only describe the crime,” the King interjects.

“I work in the farming district. In an apple orchard. Instead of turning over all the apples I collected to the cart that takes it to distribution centers, I kept some hidden in my home.”

The King turns to look at the rest of the Court and discusses quietly, avoiding your gaze. You’re able to make out some words, such as ‘sin’ and ‘infestation of the poor,’ but you don’t interact. Of course, he ignores you, as if you don’t have an opinion. As the only woman on the Court, you were only there after you convinced (more like begged) your father. Deciding a man’s fate wasn’t apt work for a royal woman, whose responsibilities lie in producing a legitimate, male heir for the Kingdom after your father chooses your husband, who is the next in line to the throne – not you, who is your father’s own flesh blood and has a right to the throne. You told your father that Queen Elizabeth I more almost three hundred years ago took the throne of England and ruled through a golden age, dismantling your father’s claim that women weren’t fit to rule, but your father argued that was why England didn’t have a direct, legitimate heir, and why England fell into turmoil after Queen Elizabeth’s death in 1603.

“There is only one suitable punishment for thieves,” The King says in a sure, kingly voice. You gulp harshly. You knew the next words that would come out of his mouth, after sitting in the Royal Court’s proceedings, which all practically ended the same way, no matter how big or small the offense is. He doles out this punishment like it’s nothing. There used to be other punishments for thieves such as cutting off their hands, but the only places those punishments are described in history books.

“Death by The Dragon’s Fang!” Your father declares. Through the ornately decorated window, you see the chopping block where executions take place. The Dragon’s Fang, the family sword that has been an important symbol of Justice in your Kingdom, cuts cleanly across the neck of whoever has done the Kingdom of Ambrosia wrong. Sharpened every day by the Executioner, it never gives anything but a decisive end to someone’s life.

“Please,” the man pleads. The chains around his wrists rattle as he folds his hands together tightly in desperation. The two guards accompanying him hold him even tighter, creating small impressions on his skinny body, but your father gestures for them to let go of Kim Donghyun. He falls to his knees, tears forming at the rims of his eyes.

You’ve sat through hundreds of proceedings, and every single one of them rips a new hole in your heart.

“I never intended to steal,” he explains. “My family, we’re starving. Starving!” He screams in anguish. The guards come closer to him but do not hold him like they once did; desperate this man is, but not desperate enough to run.

“It’s no excuse,” the King says firmly.

“I had to do it. Come to the farming district yourself! We’re all suffering before dying of starvation and disease. Reeking dead bodies are everywhere and we have no medicine and no food! How are we supposed to live?”

At his anguished voice, you decide that you’re not going to let this be yet another proceeding that you will watch and do nothing about the result. After all, this is supposed to be your kingdom in the future, not your future husbands, even though it doesn’t seem like that.

“He’s right,” you say. Stunned gasps echo through the room. Not a single member of the Royal Court has second-guessed any of the King’s decisions. But you do not let that affect the firmness in your voice.

“How are the working class supposed to serve us if we cannot give them enough resources to live?” You spin it another way. You don’t truly mean what you say, only giving the situation in this light in order for your father to understand; he only understands when things affect him; the rest of the Court are the same way, almost medically unable to expand their cold, selfish hearts to show a little compassion.

“If we show mercy to this one man,” your father says patiently, “then others will start doing the same thing. We need to make an example of the misdeeds of this man, to prevent further law-breaking.” Your father knows of your compassion for others, an un-queenly trait that he thinks you will outgrow when you get a little more experience with royal affairs, the only reason why he let you take part in the proceedings of the Royal Court. Being that you’re only a child, twenty years old, you have not the same maturity as a seasoned King. But to you, it’s not just a phase.

Whatever happened to the great leaders of yesteryear who knew when to show compassion and when to rule with an iron fist? Your father’s ruthless punishments are what earned him the title of ‘The Mad King’ by the commoners, according to the King’s spies (aptly called his ‘Ears’) everywhere. It is even rumored that the Resistance, an organization whose goal is to destroy the royal family, is real. After hearing about the American Revolution and the Revolution in France, common people hold out hope for a democracy, where everyone’s voices are heard. The writings of Thomas Paine and John Locke started circulating in the Kingdom of Ambrosia and have stirred up more political unrest than what could be imagined.

Your father afterward made it his mission to find every copy of Common Sense and Two Treatises of Government and burn them, as well as execute anyone with a physical copy of those books. He could not have that sort of insolence from his subjects. However, that did nothing; the words were still in peoples’ minds, spreading to others orally, and who knows how many illegitimate copies there are, the words printed on cloth or in their minds? This made people want to get bootlegged copies even more. If the commoners had enough food on the table and compassionate leaders, then their cries for revolution are quieter. If the Gods chose you to be a ruler, then that means that the Gods see leadership potential in your lineage, and you should follow that.

“I’m not saying to spare Kim Donghyun any punishment,” you explain cooly with your hands in your lap in a lady-like fashion, just as your governess taught you when you were little. “There are other means of punishment which will get the point across.”

“Other means of punishment?” Your father echoes in a tone that makes you feel small. “Stealing is a sin and sins are punishable by death.”

“Can’t he get a whipping? I’m sure that he learned his lesson. He’s frightened to death and needs to feed his –”

“Quiet, girl!” The King declares. Instantly, you feel your father’s palm connect with your cheek, and a stinging sensation burns your skin. This immediately makes your tear ducts tingle with the need to let hot tears roll down your cheeks, but you will not let the Royal Court see you as a little girl being chastised by her father.

You are a young woman and one that is to be the future queen at that.

At the way you take a painful slap, Kim Donghyun meets your gaze with a resigned, yet thankful look at your efforts. He already knows that in a few short minutes, his blood will be pooling on the floor in the adjacent room.

“The Royal Court here rules that Kim Donghyun is sentenced to death by the Dragon’s Fang.” He bangs the gavel against the table loudly, glancing at you before locking gazes with Kim Donghyun. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t scream. He knew he took a massive risk with those apples. He only wished that he stole more because the look of satisfaction when his wife and children ate was intoxicating.

The two guards grab Kim Donghyun’s elbows before escorting them out of the Royal Court and into the next room. The window gives a clear view of the large chopping block stained with dry, brown blood where Kim Donghyun is supposed to lean, his knees on the floor, his neck and the edge of the block lining up. Then, the Executioner takes the Dragon’s Fang and raises it above his head. He doesn’t close his eyes at the sight he is about to see, a ritual he has performed thousands of times, only asking the victim for any last words, as you can tell from seeing this proceeding many times. Kim Donghyun says something, but you are not sure what. Then, the Executioner swings the sword, and Kim Donghyun crumbles to the ground in two parts after a sickening crunch (that you’ve heard so many times, it echoes in your head).

You think you’re going to be sick.

Just like there were many court proceedings before the trial of Kim Donghyun, there are many afterward. The Resistance is growing larger, according to the King’s Ears, and is ready to plan something large. Normally, your father would not tolerate this insolence against the royal family. He would have liked to nip it in the bud and hang the bodies of all the rebels in front of the streets to make an example out of them, but the King is running into a huge problem: he is close to bankruptcy. He barely has enough resources to pay guards and mercenaries to protect the current palace, as well as cooks and maids and servants. He doesn’t have enough resources to pay for a large army and create a special task force to get rid of the rebels. After spending his money on clothes and shoes, brand new wings of the palace and concubines, he was spending money faster than he was receiving it.

Obviously, you knew that this was a serious problem, and it was information that select people had access to; Royal advisors were trying their best to make sure that this information was kept under a tight lid and wouldn’t find its way to the Resistance. Royal advisors suggested that the King find a source of needed materials without raising taxes yet again, and that’s where you come to play. Your father arranged for you to meet a suitor to set up a much-needed marriage alliance.

Today, you would be meeting the Prince of Neo, Huang Renjun. Neo is a small kingdom a few days journey from you by the sea, and they are known for their ample craftsman class who commission some of the finest weapons. They are also a source of skilled fighters, and they will be more likely to ship off their people and provide resources to Ambrosia if they have a suitable marriage alliance.

As much as you hated being auctioned off like an antique vase, it was something that couldn’t be helped as a royal woman. You only hope that this Huang Renjun isn’t like the other suitors you have met, who are snooty and stuck up, ruthless as if they are miniature versions of your father. More importantly, you wish that they won’t cast you aside, using you as a pawn to get their hands on the better prize, the Kingdom of Ambrosia, the largest kingdom in the area.

There’s already tension in the air when you are escorted by your mother and lady’s maids into the drawing room where you first lay eyes on Huang Renjun.

His raven-colored hair is neatly gelled and combed, and his skin is pale in contrast. He stands up politely at your presence, and you get a good look at his clothing: rich, exactly what you expect for a royal from another kingdom. He wears red robes with delicate, intricate yellow designs, and you suspect the material is velvet. He has white frills at his neck, and milky white socks that compliment the black shoes at his feet, which have a gold flower at the center of the foot to match the gold designs on his robes.

You’re thankful that the suitor you’re meeting is actually in the same age range as you, but it’s an additional bonus that he’s one of the most beautiful men you’ve met without even trying.

He is also observing you with the same tenacity as you do with him: You’re wearing a crown of pink flowers on your head, which matches the pink flowers on your sky-blue dress. Your skirt is large and trails at your behind, which shows your royal standing, and the sky-blue sleeves of your dress slowly become white lace as his eyes follow from your shoulders to your wrists. The sleeves of your dress are cone-like, and the edges are able to reach your knees.

For a few seconds, you meet Renjun’s gaze. His eyes are a beautiful dark brown, and they offer you a friendly look, which puts your heart at slight ease.

“Princess Y/N, this is Prince Renjun of Neo,” your mother introduces in a voice that makes it seem like she has known Prince Renjun for a long time (which she hasn’t).

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, your Highness,” Renjun says. His voice is absolutely magnificent, song-like, and dreamy. He steps forward and bends down on one knee, taking your right hand and kissing the back of it.

His lips feel warm against your skin.

There are a few other men by Renjun’s side. There are his personal guards, who came with him on the carriage ride from his castle to yours, and another man in fine clothing, someone you failed to notice due to your observant study of Huang Renjun.

“And this is the King of Neo,” your mother continues, gesturing. He bows down and takes the time to bend down and kiss your mother’s hand (which has her bubbling with pleasant words) and your hand, which you give a curt greeting. His black robe shuffles as he steps back, and you study Renjun side-by-side with his father.

“Pleased to meet you, Your Highnesses,” he says.

A few maids come in bearing silver trays piled with bite-sized sandwiches, in the shape of a pyramid. You and your mother take one, while Renjun and his father take one each, all four of you being overly courteous to the help in an effort to keep appearances.

“Your daughter looks like a lovely young lady, perfect for my Renjun,” the King of Neo comments, giving your mother a gracious smile. “So elegant and full of grace, she will make a fine queen and wife, Your Highness,” he addresses your mother.

“Thank you for your kind words,” Your mother responds back, her eyes crinkling as a part of her practiced genuine smile. “May I escort you to the King? He has some matters that he would like to discuss with you.”

“Of course, my good lady,” the King of Neo responds back courteously. Your mother leads the way out of the room, and a few maids look like they are going to follow her, to make sure that she is okay, but she only needs to give a flick of her wrist for them to disperse back into the drawing room. Now, you and Renjun are alone, except for the help, but they don’t count. You’re grateful that your mother has left you both alone because you absolutely hate being chaperoned during meets with suitors – it makes you more nervous having that extra company. That just shows how important this alliance is for the Kingdom that your mother understands your weakness and tries to put you on the best possible foot to make a good performance for Huang Renjun.

Performance. The word has the connotation relating it to a game, which is what this whole suitor business is.

“Please have a seat,” you say to Renjun, gesturing at the plush pink-and-green sofa that he abandoned when you entered the room. There is a small ottoman opposite of the sofa, and there is a glass table in between with the pyramid of sandwiches that the maid brought a few minutes ago. You’re ready to bring up something about the weather and other practiced lines you have prepared for occasions like this when something catches your eye on the table, a leather-bound book. It is a copy of The Oresteia by Aeschylus. You remember reading it back when you were still taught by a governess.

“Excellent choice,” you start off, gesturing to the volume on the table.

Renjun smiles at you, a pretty sight just as beautiful as his voice.

“Thank you. You have a wonderful library, larger than the one I have at home,” he says in awe. The library room is in the next room, and it is dark and paneled with fine wood; it would not be a good choice to meet a suitor, for it is a major turn-off if a woman is too well-educated, enough that she would love books more than making an heir for the family.

Personally, the library room is your favorite room in the house.

“You don’t have Oresteia in your library?”

“No,” Renjun says sheepishly. “It’s been on my list of books to read for a long time, but I just haven’t had the chance to get a copy with all the suitors my father forc–” Renjun suddenly stops, realizing who he is talking to. His face turns into a bright beet red, thinking that he has messed up more than he ever thought he could.

Your face doesn’t shrivel with offense the way Renjun thought it would. He met a royal woman once who after he said he didn’t like blueberry scones, escorted him out of her castle. Instead, he is greeted by a smile. You experienced the same feeling.

“It’s okay,” you say lightly. “I wasn’t exactly that happy to meet you too.” You’re glad that your mother isn’t chaperoning, or anyone in your Court is either because hearing those words from your mouth would earn you a slap across your face. ‘A lady isn’t supposed to tell someone what she thinks,’ you can hear your mother’s and governess’ voices ringing in your ears (they practically had the same voice… all high-class women had a high pitch, sultry yet innocent voice).

Renjun finds your words refreshing; this is the first time he’s met a royal who actually says what she thinks, and that sort of directness is what he craves in someone – he hates having to analyze every little word in a woman’s sentence in order to find out what she truly means.

“How far are you?” You ask.

“Not very,” Renjun sighs. “I wished you came later so I would have had more time to read.” You titter a little, and Renjun is glad that he is able to see a real, genuine smile from you.

“But Clytemnestra has just killed King Agamemnon and Cassandra.” You nod, remembering yourself all those years ago holding this same volume. You’re trying to think of something to say that will contribute to the conversation when Renjun’s voice becomes lower.

“Do you think he deserved it?”

Initially, you’re not sure if you should answer the question. On one hand, you do want to answer the question because you can’t believe that you have a suitor who wants to intelligently discuss literature with you, a complete dream that you can’t believe is happening in real life, but there is another part of you that wants to follow your mother’s advice she gave you a long time ago when it came to meeting suitors: to not let him know too much about your opinions too early.

“I apologize,” Renjun says hesitantly. He just broke all rules when it comes to meeting suitors. He is also not supposed to ask questions like these. Questions like “what are your favorite sweets?” or “what is your favorite city?” are more appropriate for someone you just met.

“You don’t have to,” you say more confidently. “I think I understand Clytemnestra’s fury. Imagine finding out that your daughter was sacrificed so that your husband can help his brother get his wife back. There’s a line that has to be drawn between your family and someone else’s family, and Agamemnon failed to do so. Menelaus had other allies from various kingdoms that could help him, and Agamemnon could help in other ways than sacrificing his eldest daughter to Artemis. But Iphigenia only had Agamemnon. She was his daughter. He was supposed to protect her. He wasn’t supposed to auction her off to her death. So he must pay with his life,” you explain rationally.

Renjun is pretty sure that you’re not only talking about Oresteia anymore. And he’s right. Maybe you feel a little like Iphigenia, but the free will that you are sacrificing is for the good of your kingdom and not someone else’s.

After your father overspent his money, even after charging ridiculously high tax rates and has no means to quell the Resistance by force.

The way you passionately discussed literature was endearing to Renjun. He didn’t want to be stuck with a bimbo for the rest of his life, who was only interested in parties and pleasure. You have substance.

The two of you continue to discuss other Ancient Greek literature since much of the literature includes myths that are implicitly referenced in other works that people in those days would have understood. The conversation is entertaining, and you freely give your opinion and Renjun does the same, and you appreciate the candidness more than anything in the world.

“I’m glad for one thing,” you say during the conversation.

Renjun raises an eyebrow.

“That the Greek Gods don’t meddle in our lives.”

Sometimes, just sitting around in the castle got boring – no, a lot of times, just sitting around in the castle got boring. You didn’t have much of a say in the Royal Court and you didn’t have much of a say in royal decision-making either, so you decided a few years ago that there would be something that you would have control over.

Every weekend, you went into the cities of your Kingdom and practiced healing with the royal healer. A maximum of four people knew about this, and you wanted to keep it that way because if your family found out about this arrangement, they would serve your head on a platter. But so far, no one unnecessary knew about this. The royal healer, the cart driver, and your head maid were the only people who knew. It was your way to give back to the kingdom since so many were dying of diseases or were injured and lamed forever, and these tragedies could be avoided if there was a better spread of healthcare across the kingdom.

Your head maid has clothes prepared for you, a maid’s outfit that you go into town wearing. With how the people feel about the royal family now that the Resistance is trying to spread their message, it was better if your deeds went unsaid; you didn’t want to attract unnecessary attention to yourself, or else the people in your care could get hurt.

So here you are, sitting in a prepared cart filled with medicine, along with the royal healer. The hot late-summer sun burns your shoulders as you sit, but you’re glad you’re only wearing a maid’s outfit and not the eight different skirts you have to wear all day as a royal; wearing all that clothing in this heat is the definition of hell on Earth.

Maybe you’re being dramatic when you say that because when you see the capital city, Ciel, it certainly looks like hell on Earth. A little part of you is glad that you’re safely tucked away in your castle in the countryside because you’re not sure you could ever bear calling what is now Ciel, home. Sick people decorate the well-trodden streets, orphaned children scour waste for food, wails of anguish fill the air as people cry over the dead, and the stench – oh, the stench! How pungent and repelling it is, you almost want to gag. Thankfully, you have a flower from the royal gardens tied to your wrist, and you harshly press the flower against your nose, breathing in the fresh scent.

But the saddest thing on the street is the people who are wholly unaffected by all the events happening. They are residents no doubt, with tattered, stained breeches that have probably never seen a wash, but the resigned look on their faces is what breaks your heart into a thousand more pieces. They accept that this is how life is going to be. These people are usually able to hide among the crowds of people, but to you they stick out like a sore thumb.

Speaking of people, there seems to be less than there was last week. Everything seems a tad quieter, and people don’t seem to be sporting angry, belligerent looks on their faces against the royals, just the resigned, sick, and anguished seem left.

But this doesn’t stop you from setting up shop. With the royal healer Doyoung, you both find an abandoned building – a building that you have kept under a different name using some royal funds you’re able to get out of your father’s hands – and set up medicines, table cloths, bandages, and other tools needed to properly heal the masses. After seeing your appearances, people start coming in. It was an unspoken thing with the people of Ciel, the most poverty-stricken people in your kingdom, living in shanty towns because the capital is where all the work is. It spread around to others that a healer and his assistant would come every week to try to relieve them. They didn’t know anything about the healer or the assistant, or why they only came once a week (many people have requested that you and Doyoung make your presence known more often), but you would simply sigh and shrug your shoulders, that you could only ever manage once a week. In your heart, you knew that your family wouldn’t notice you gone for at least six hours in a day, but if you tried six hours in two days, that’s asking for problems. Although, you never say that.

However, you and Doyoung have trained others in town who want to heal some basic hygiene and herbs that can be found around Ciel, such as poppy seeds for sleeping and ginseng for preventing inflammation of wounds (but sometimes a cure-all for desperate people). However, due to how populated Ciel is, it’s hard to find even find these plants since medicinal plants need care to grow. They aren’t like dandelions that can grow among the trash and ruin. Which is why you and Doyoung bring a decent stock of other plants from the royal medical gardens and teach others how to store them. But even still, basic training and plant stocks are not enough to keep people alive, and many times, you need a trained medical opinion or experience.

As some patients take rest on the blankets that are scattered in this makeshift hospital, other helpers (practically employees) come in as well.

The first to come is the brother-sister pair, Soobong and Sooyoung. They were always the most punctual, and they live for healing and helping others – with enough medical training, they were good enough to work at the castle.

“Good, you’re here,” Doyoung says brusquely. “More and more people are coming. Sooyoung, ask patients what their ailments are, and Soobong and Y/N, help me unload the stock.” Doyoung commands confidently.

Kim Doyoung had been at this for a long time, as you notice through his weathered, experienced face. He’s been doing this before you knew about it, and when you caught him, you told him that you would join him or you would tell the King, and he gladly took the former option. Doyoung himself grew up on the streets of Ciel, orphaned, but he met a man who helped him learn the art of healing, and he became a revered healer in Ciel before going to the castle. As much as he loved being generous, most of the people who came to him had no money but were only able to exchange favors. He gladly accepted favors – fresh honey, a wonderful story, a beautiful flower, but he also liked recieving a salary.

Still, it doesn’t seem like the streets of Ciel were angry with him for wanting to get paid for his skill; they were only thankful that he was generous enough to continue sharing it with them after all these years.

As Sooyoung socializes with the patients, she is courteous as she asks about their ailments. She can take fifty people’s troubles and tell you every single one – she just has that sort of memory. She would write down all the conditions if she knew how to read or write; only now have you taught her how to count, so that she can refer to each patient as ‘patient at blanket number x’ so it is a more efficient way of describing them.

You and Soobong along with Doyoung are going out to the cart and bringing in jars and wrapped packages of medicinal herbs, from marigold to milk thistle to goldenseal.

When the last of this week’s stock is brought in, Sooyoung approaches you and tells you what conditions people have today.

“The man at blanket thirty is suffering from diarrhea and his wife is very worried about him,” she reports, ending her interactions with all the patients. All of these conditions you’re too familiar with after years of healing. Diarrhea from eating contaminated meat. Cholera from drinking contaminated water. Itchy skin due to a poor personal hygiene regiment. Infection after a metal bucket scraped skin. Sleeplessness after the violent death of a loved one. All of these conditions, you were able to easily escape due to your high status. And you were the one with the best healthcare in the Kingdom after you rarely did anything. When was the last time you picked up a bucket? Or had itchy skin? You live such a good life that half the time, you didn’t need a healer.

But these people do. And they don’t have a healer.

You, Soobong, and Doyoung crush some marigold leaves for the man with the infection, valerian for the sleepless woman and others, handing the paste to Sooyoung who would administer the herbs to the patients. Thankfully, as more and more sick people came in, more and more help was arriving, including Na Jaemin.

He and a few others were bringing injured-looking people. You rushed to their sides, helping them out after abandoning the leaves you were crushing. Before Soobong could do anything, Doyoung ordered him to stay and that you and Jaemin were taking care of whatever needed taking care of.

“What happened?” You gasped, carrying the people to empty blankets. Jaemin follows you, carrying a heavy-looking older man.

“T-There was a riot,” Jaemin says breathlessly.

“A riot?” You echo dumbly. Jaemin nods.

“The Carcel,” he says as if he explained the whole story. At your confusion, though, he continues.

“There was a storming. Weapons were stolen, and the place was trashed before it started burning.” Your blood runs cold.

The Carcel has served as a fortress, armory, and political prison for as long as you can remember. Erected by your great-great-grandfather to protect the castle – the old castle that your family used to reside in before picking a different, more luxurious location in the countryside that gave plenty of room to expand; that castle burned in an earlier, angry riot. Now it looked eerie in the capital, and it was moderately reconstructed as an armory and a prison for prisoners that your father decided not to kill on the spot before his killing spree started.

Knowing this information, Ambrosia was teetering closer and closer to ruin. You gulp. You thought that if your father gave more freedoms to the people and modernized, there would be a higher chance that you would still be in power for generations to come, or at least… your lives. Now, that hope is all gone. People are angry, and they won’t stop until the Royal Family is gone for good. You know what that means. The people won’t rest until your heads are hacked off by the Dragon’s Fang.

“A-And these are,” you take a deep breath. “Insurrectionists?” You ask. No matter how much sympathy you had to the people of Ambrosia who have been wronged by the royal family, you still feel a chill crawl down your spine

You wonder how Soobong, Sooyoung, and Jaemin would react if they knew your true identity – or anyone in this room except Doyoung knew.

“Not all of them. Some of them were just caught in the crossfire.”

“What were you doing there?” You ask accusingly. You bite your lip in shame, hating how transparent you seem. Jaemin looks at you with a brow raised. For all he knew, you were just Y/N, a maid to a nobleman who knew Doyoung as a child on the streets of Ciel.

Immediately, you clear your throat. “It could have been dangerous. Are you hurt anywhere?” You ask with concern, taking his bare forearms in your hand to inspect. You furrow your brows at a fresh-looking mark, but it’s just a smudge of red dirt.

Jaemin smiles. “No. Clean as I’ll ever be.” He chuckled in a hearty way that put all your worries at rest. He continues. “And I was there because my cousin was there. I didn’t want him doing anything stupid, but he wouldn’t listen to me, so I went to watch him.” His expression hardens. “Where his stupidity took him,” he grunts, pointing to another boy carrying a younger boy, maybe fifteen years old, to a bed, with bleeding on his arms and his leg twisted.

“Jaemin!” A voice shouts. You and Jaemin whip your heads to see Doyoung, still crushing leaves into paste and squeezing the juice out of roots. “I need some help over here. Y/N, work with Sooyoung to get the ailments of the newcomers.”

“Yes, Doyoung,” you say and shuffle away. To Doyoung’s perceptive eye, he could see slight cuts on your fingers from all the crushing, and he couldn’t possibly return you home like that. So, he gave you a less taxing job. It was a shame though – you were one of his most skilled apprentices.

Sooyoung takes care of half of the newcomers while you take care of the other half. As you ask them what is ailing them and inspect their injuries, you can already see yourself writing a mental list of needed herbs: marigold, garlic, echinacea, aloe vera, poppy seeds. All of these were anti-inflammatory plants with poppy seeds bringing patients to sleep to help cure their wounds.

But there is a face, an unmistakable face attached to a body that is sitting on a blanket. Despite the contusions on his face and body, as well as his twisted leg at an odd angle, the boy sitting at blanket number thirty-seven is Huang Renjun, Prince of Neo.

As shock finds its way to settle into your face, so does suspicion. What was Huang Renjun doing in a rebellion against the King of Ambrosia?

Every part of your royal instincts tells you to tread carefully. If Huang Renjun is an enemy, then it’s best to keep that information to yourself so you can give yourself an advantage.

Before you can decide whether you should pretend you don’t know him or acknowledge his existence, Renjun speaks first.

“Y/N,” he says softly. You look around. Soobong, Jaemin, Sooyoung, and Doyoung all look preoccupied, and the others that you know are hurriedly applying salves to injured people or offering them edible medicine. You didn’t want to explain how you knew this stranger.

Renjun, like you, is dressed in a commoner’s clothes. He wears a casual set of commoner’s breeches and a faded, light-blue shirt. He has a brown hat next to him that smells oily and full of sweat, and his jet-black hair is disheveled, compared to when you met him. Renjun has been staying at the castle, and your father and his father are trying to strike a favorable deal when it comes to providing an army to quash the Resistance. During the past two days, from what you can hear behind the door, it is a long deal, with both men throwing numbers and getting others to write a contract of this agreement. Renjun has been sitting in the negotiations, to learn the art of negotiation, but you aren’t allowed to sit in. And when they aren’t negotiating, the three of them go hunting together, for your father to get to know the man that will marry his daughter and take over his kingdom. So, you haven’t seen the boy ever since you talked about Aeschylus and other Greek authors and myths together, only seeing him in passing at dinner, which you are almost always joined by the Huangs. Other invitees at dinner seem interested in this stranger, leaving almost no more time for you to know him.

At this moment, your chemistry is undeniable.

“What are you doing here?” You blurt out.

Renjun smiles in pain. “I’m injured obviously. But I could also ask the same for you.” He eyes you in your maid’s outfit.

“I mean, what were you doing at the Carcel?” You inquire. Butterflies erupt in your stomach. You see him reach for something, and you tense up. Your instinct thought it was a knife, a plan to kill the Princess of Ambrosia since he is the only one in this crowded room who knows your true identity.

The object Renjun was reaching for was his dirty messenger bag, and he struggles to open the latch. You take the bag and look inside. Paints, and a smeared painting of roses. You’re not sure if it’s red paint or blood.

“I was painting at the Square.” He says simply. The town square is still a bustling place, in viewing distance to the Carcel, cobblestoned and filled with a rose garden that is sometimes known as the envy of the land, the only place in Ciel that doesn’t look hopeless thanks to various people in the area who consider those roses a part of Ciel’s character. It’s the only greenspace in the center of Ciel, minus a small wooded place two blocks away where helpers gather poppy seeds and milk thistle.

“I was painting roses since it was the only time I could get away from everything,” Renjun starts. “But then I heard people screaming and there were people with weapons and then a stampede ensued.” Renjun shivers thinking about what happened in the past thirty minutes, and at this movement, his twisted leg twitches and he bites his lower lip to contain a scream.

You’re about to scurry off and get something for the pain, but Renjun grips your wrist tightly, an uneasy smile on his face.

“You didn’t tell me what you’re doing here.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” you scoff.

“Enlighten me.”

You take a deep breath. “I’m here as a healer. I come every week with Doyoung.”

“And I can imagine that it’s not what you’re supposed to be doing?” Renjun asks, knowing what the obvious answer is.

You don’t answer him.

“Well, I was here doing what I wasn’t supposed to be doing.” He chuckles. “If my father found out I was painting, he would rip me in half.” Renjun wasn’t lying. The life of a royal was restricting, no matter if you were a man or a woman. For a man, hunting was seen as an appropriate, manly hobby, but painting isn’t.

“Apparently, painting is only for indecent people who ogle naked women and sleep with their muses.”

You almost want to gasp with how crass Renjun sounded. Renjun only laughs at your shocked expression before sucking in a breath due to his pain. With a wet cloth on a tray nearby, you dab the wounds on his arms, and Renjun’s face contorts at this gesture.

You hurry back to the shelves of herbs and grab some marigold paste and some thin, bandage cloths. Gently, you apply the salve on Renjun’s wounds and bandage them with a precision that you have been perfecting for a long time. Renjun only focuses on you as he tries to forget about the pain, admiring your expertise. It wasn’t every day that a royal knew a skill that didn’t include commanding others to do tasks for them.

Looking at his awkward leg, you make direct eye contact with Renjun.

“This is going to hurt a lot,” you say. Rushing to the counter at the front, you grab a stick and give it to Renjun. “Put this in your mouth,” you say in a commanding voice that Renjun doesn’t want to argue with.

Carefully, you hold the side of Renjun’s knee with one hand, and with the other hand, you yank his leg, locking it back into its correct place.

The twig in Renjun’s mouth snaps during the process.

“You were right,” Renjun says breathlessly.

“Say,” Renjun says after a while of watching you apply a salve of milk thistle on the cuts on his legs before bandaging them.

“I won’t tell your father that you were out here healing the poor, not once but weekly with Doyoung unless I get to paint you.” The request is shocking, and you look at Renjun, puzzled for a split second before you make an offer of your own, a smile on your face. If there’s anything a royal is good at, no matter a man or woman, it was negotiating.

“And I won’t tell your father that you were painting unless you come and help out with me here,” you counteroffer.

“An eye for an eye,” Renjun recalls, remembering how you passionately defended Queen Clytaenmestra for making King Agamemnon to pay for his life after leading his eldest daughter to her death. In this case, one favor each to keep you both doing what you loved doing.

“Yes. This knife cuts both ways,” At how solemn you both sound, you two look each other in the eye to seal the verbal contract that you have just created.

For once, your parents made a good match for you.

It’s another few days before you see Renjun again. It’s at dinner, but this time the air of tension, filled with encoded thoughts is gone, and both your father and the King of Neo look jubilant. That can only mean one thing: they both have reached a deal that they are both happy with. It’s surprising, given that at the end of such long deals, one side is unhappy in ‘giving in too much’ while the other believes that they have won a match.

Nonetheless, dinner is no less than fine. Renjun’s father sits at the end of one table with Renjun at a seat nearby, while your father is seated at the other end of the table, with your mother accompanying you. You sit in between your mother and Renjun, while on the other side, the King’s advisor is facing you directly. Joining you tonight are a couple of earls and marquis who your family has always been particularly close with, enough so to share such an important meal as tonight’s meal.

“We have some exciting news,” The King of Ambrosia says. You think everyone in the room already knows what the news is due to his expression, but that doesn’t stop him from sharing.

“King Huang and I have reached a suitable deal. They will provide a sum of armory and mercenaries to help us with our problems with rebels. Just in time after the incident at the Carcel. He has been so agreeable due to the arrangement that Princess Y/N and Prince Renjun have. Our grandchildren will be certainly powerful!” Your father cheers. You smile pleasantly and find Renjun’s face beside you, and he also stares at you with equal fondness. The others in the room are pleased that you two have gotten on well. Although they only know of one meeting between you two, no complaints have been made by either of you against the other. For the two of you, suitors are a touchy subject, and you both have a hard time getting along with others that you are arranged to marry, but this time, it seems like two kindred souls have met.

Your father’s prayers have been answered; Ambrosia won’t fall to ruin after his overspending. Of course, that doesn’t stop him from having lavish, excessive meals every night while the people of his kingdom are starving.

King Huang starts speaking. “The King and I have started talking about something to celebrate the upcoming marriage. We have discussed a tourney in Princess Y/N and Prince Renjun’s honor.”

Your mother claps gleefully, and the King’s advisor looks thoughtful. He hoped that Neo’s resources were in plenty, so he wouldn’t have to impose more taxes.

Your mother looks at you pointedly for you to make a response, but Renjun speaks first. “On behalf of myself and my betrothed, I thank you both for your generosity.” His voice is crisp, sincere yet formal. He looks at you with a smile. “I’m sure that we both are going to enjoy it.” You both know that if there’s anything that you’d enjoy, it would be a room full of books and paints.

The servants arrive with plates and plates of food, freshly and expertly cooked by the castle chef. You eat the creamed lobster, poached eggs, meat-stuffed bread, carrot purees, chocolate souffles, and wash it all down with red wine. The table is filled with content eating sounds, the clacking of forks against ornately designed china.

As the last plate is collected by a kitchen maid, music fills the nearby ballroom.

“A night like tonight should be celebrated with music!” Your father announces. The dinner party follows him and the King of Neo to the ballroom, where there is a live orchestra filled with the best musicians in Ambrosia. They play waltzing music, so the earls and dukes start dancing with their wives, and their children find people to dance with.

“May I have this dance?” Renjun is on one knee, his hand held out as he waits for you to accept his invitation. You scoff a little at how ‘noble’ he is acting, compared to the boy painting in secret and stating that he hated meeting suitors.

“Of course, my betrothed,” you say smoothly, taking the boy’s soft hand. He stands upright, and you look almost eye-level with him. He gingerly puts a hand to your waist and the other clasps your hand as he dances with you. You think that you probably learned to Walz around the same time you learned to walk, and the steps feel familiar as you follow the compound beat.

“One, two, three, one two three,” Renjun murmurs to himself. If you hadn’t been listening carefully enough, you wouldn’t have heard him count to himself. You only did so when you were a beginner of the walz, counting to make sure that your steps were correctly timed as your dance instructor danced with you.

You can’t help a giggle bubble up your throat.

“What’s that?” Renjun asks.

“What’s what?” You reply, feigning ignorance.

“I know you heard me.” Renjun confronts you.

“I’ve never heard anyone our age counting during the Walz.”

“What’s wrong with counting? I like to be precise.” Renjun challenges in that playful way that you can’t get enough of. You exhale.

“Only children count when they Walz.”

“Can I make a confession?” Renjun asks. His voice is quiet, and his lips are close to your ear, his breath hot and smelling of spices. At this moment, he looks absolutely ravishing.

He doesn’t wait for you to reply. “I only learned to Walz last week. Your mother taught me. She thought it was improper that I didn’t know how to dance with a lady.” That did sound like your mother. You take a second to see her dancing with your father in a perfect Walz, from years of hosting and attending events that are similar to this one.

You sigh, bringing your body closer to his and correcting any of his missteps. You loved the way that his body deliciously brushed against yours, and the way that his hand moved down your back, not entirely gentlemanly. You keep your voice quiet, closing some space between your faces. “She knows I don’t care about that.”

“Does she?” Renjun questions. You don’t answer. The royal breed wasn’t exactly the best listeners. There were a lot of ideas that your parents liked to push into your head, such that a woman should be the type devoted to her husband and her life’s work is creating an heir to the throne. And there is one thing for sure: women were supposed to be pure. They didn’t have sexual urges, they were subject to the will of their husbands.

You’re not going to pretend that thoughts wouldn’t enter your brain as Renjun’s length brushes your leg…

You and Renjun keep dancing for a few more minutes, but neither of you is really feeling the mood anymore. It’s always a surprise how the upper class can keep dancing and dancing and dancing.

“Does this dance ever end?” Renjun groans. No one seems to hear him, trapped in their own worlds.

“It does now,” you say. You stop dancing and gently yank Renjun’s arm. Without an eye on either of you, the dull Walz music becomes a distant memory as you both walk into the dark castle corridors. There are a few guards here and there, but you and Renjun walk up the stairs and stop midway through the staircase, on the flat piece of floor that proceeds another swivel staircase. A large window is on the wall, and you can see the moon, a small crescent.

There’s something so romantic about the dark, something that makes you want to unleash your inner feelings. Huang Renjun is thinking the same thing.

You can barely see each other’s faces as your lips meld into his. Renjun was different, and you wanted him, you think as you taste his lips from every possible angle, his nose bumping into yours. His hands feel intoxicating as his hands find your waist, his grip deceptively tight as if he never wanted to let go of a woman like you.

At the sound of echoing footsteps, you and Renjun jump away from each other and search for the source of the footsteps. It’s a few guards, and they make brief eye contact with you and then with Renjun.

You press a quick kiss on Renjun’s lips. It was the perfect time to stop. You haven’t given up your chastity just yet, your dress was still on! Now you would leave him wanting more. It was the strategy your mother gave you when you were meeting suitors, but you can find other ways to keep that statement relevant in your life.

“Until later, my sweet,” you lean in, murmuring those sultry words against his lips. You leave him standing by the large window as you find your way back to your chambers on the other side of the castle, becoming a smaller and smaller shadow in Renjun’s vision.

The next time you would visit the streets of Ciel is sooner than you think, for this week has gone by rather quickly. As per your agreement with Renjun, he would help you out in the makeshift apothecary with Doyoung if you kept his secret that he paints in his spare time. This week, the apothecary is not less active than it was last week since the spread of disease is rampant in these areas, so you’re glad that you’re able to bring some forced labor with you.

Renjun is also dressed in servants’ uniforms, getting it from your lady’s maid, who covertly got this from the washerwoman. However, before you got out of the cart bringing you, Renjun, and Doyoung into the city, you still felt like he had a ‘noble’ look to him. Finding some dirt on the ground, you take a handful and rub it on Renjun’s cheek.

“There,” you say, admiring your handiwork. “You look more like Y/N the maid’s friend.” Renjun just laughs a hearty, carefree laugh.

The story behind Renjun was easy to fabricate when you were explaining his presence to Soobong, Sooyoung, and Jaemin. He also worked at the same nobleman’s house that you did but as a server, and he wanted to find out what you were hiding when you disappeared one afternoon every week. You made him swear that he would never tell since you were supposed to be working, and after he promised he wouldn’t tell, you brought him here. Sooyoung looked a little suspicious after you told your story, and you felt like your heart was beating in your throat as you waited for her to say or do anything, that maybe she recognized him from the last week after the storming of the Carcel, but she doesn’t say anything. You were more than relieved.

She probably didn’t care anyway, given that your group needed more help than you could imagine. More healing apprentices showed up, mixing salves and administering medicines, but most of Ciel has been under strict curfew. After the storming, your father demanded that there be soldiers on the streets, prowling for any rebels, courtesy of the deal made with the King of Neo.

They were given the right to shoot if they even looked dissatisfied with how the people were behaving.

Although you were (somewhat) safely tucked inside the abandoned building that you have been paying to keep as a hospital for the sick of Ciel, you can still feel the tension outside, as if they are waves licking at the windows. People walk stiffly, their eyes darting before they say something, trash litters the ground, hastily-built huts and pieces of wood serve as many peoples’ homes as they inhabit the slums for their work.

Of course, only when there is dissent are the royals actually thinking of the people of Ciel.

Soldiers stand outside, backs straight, yet some squirm in their thick uniforms under the bright, hot sun. It’s not like they can do anything to an apothecary, so they stand, looking around. The thought of being watched makes you feel almost breathless, and you just hope you don’t look like royalty enough for them to notice. As your heart beats a little faster, you tightly wrap a bonnet you found around your head, focusing your vision only on the sick.

You show Renjun to the table where Doyoung is, and show him how to crush leaves and efficiently save all the healing juice, how to wrap a bandage, how to clean a wound, where to get some water to soak cloths, and where the stores of poppy seeds, milk thistle, and other anti-inflammatory herbs are. Those, you think, are the most important training to learn first.

Renjun watches as you talk to Sooyoung, the girl who chats with new arrivals and diagnoses their conditions. Then you grab herbs, bandages, and wet cloths and work around the room with the help of Jaemin, who is now administering medicine since Renjun is supposed to be crushing leaves and filling the water bucket.

If you haven’t noticed, life was getting harder at Ciel. Just as you were curing more sick people, more and more people were coming in, needing treatment. Not to mention that not everyone survives treatment; every week, you’re surrounded by death. On top of that, with the current instability in Ciel, Renjun was surprised that you were dead-set on coming with Doyoung because it wasn’t really your job to care. Sure, it wasn’t really Doyoung’s job to care either, but since he grew up in Ciel as an orphan, he always would feel the need to give back to his hometown. But you? You were the child of two royals, who had everything you could ever possibly need in the castle. But that wasn’t enough for you. You had to know that your subjects were okay, and if they weren’t, you wanted to do your part and help even if you have no say in most royal affairs.

Every day, he has more and more reasons to fall in love with you.

For a while, Renjun admires your work from afar, but he continues to work himself; just being surrounded by such productive people makes him want to be productive as well.

Finally, he’s able to get a moment alone with you.

“Why do you even care?” Renjun asks. You both are in a back room alone as you lead him to the borage supply to help cure a family’s fit of coughs.

“Why shouldn’t I?” You challenge. Renjun voices what he has been thinking while he observed you working yourself to the bone.

“Because you have everything you need in this life and in the next. What is a reason for doing this other than you’re probably the kindest person I’ve ever met in my whole life?”

You smile. “You know how our families were picked by God to rule? To conquer?”

“Of course.”

“There’s got to be a reason, right?” You question. “To give us such a high position in power over so many people.”

“He must have seen potential in our families. We need to live up to that.” You say simply.

“Have you ever told anyone your opinion?” Renjun asks quietly.

You snort a little before looking at your feet. “Once. To my father.” You turn your head to face Renjun, the smile widening on your face. “That was probably the hardest slap I’ve ever received.”

Renjun closes the space between you, and his face is so close that your noses are brushing. “Probably not as hard as the whipping I got after getting out of our palanquin to give a homeless man a few crackers in my pocket.”

“I guess we’re two soft-hearted people.” You giggle, finally closing the pesky gap between your lips. You pull away, letting your finger trace his lips. Renjun’s nostrils twitch at this feeling.

“We’re going to be different rulers when we get the throne, right?” You ask as you study his soft, pink lips that look deliciously kissable.

“Of course,” Renjun says after a long pause. “If there was a way to tell the people to wait for a little while longer…” Renjun trails off as he presses his forehead against yours. Immediately, he feels the dampness of your skin, how you’re sweating in this hot building, but he doesn’t care.

Renjun thinks he loves you now at this moment more than he ever thought he would even though your appearance is less than exemplary. But because it’s imperfect, it makes you feel more real.

“We’re going to give people more freedoms, like in other countries. We’ll share our resources better. And we can build schools to educate people and help them learn how to make the right decisions,” Renjun says. The word ‘we’ echoes in your brain. For the rest of your lives, Huang Renjun would be on your team, and together you would try to undo the oppression that your families have facilitated through generations.

“Would you rather be loved or be feared?” You ask Renjun as you absorb the warmth of his chest. It’s a pleasant sort of heat, not the heat that prikles your skin.

“I hate that question.” Renjun chuckles.

“Just answer it,” you pout.

“Fine.” Renjun sighs. “Feared.” You raise an eyebrow curiously.

“Why?”

“I only want to show love for my people. But I want my people to fear what will happen if they take advantage of me.”

“Interesting take,” you say softly. “You already know my answer. Love. I want to be loved by my people, no matter what.”

Renjun takes your cheeks into his hands as he stares into your beautiful eyes.

“Just be careful, my darling,” Renjun says. “You’re so trusting, too trusting for a royal.”

“Isn’t that what you love about me? That I’m different?” You ask playfully, poking his chest with your index finger.

Renjun doesn’t answer, only placing a kiss on your warm cheeks

You take Renjun’s hands and wrap them around your body so you can be held in his embrace. The future together seemed so sweet, but now, you need to focus on the present.

“Right, the borage,” you say, pulling away reluctantly.

If there was anything that your royal parents would disapprove of, it’s letting a man into a young maid’s bedroom, especially if she is unmarried.

But you’re not for one with the status quo, and as per the deal, you were going to let Renjun paint you. The only place that wasn’t crawling with servants and event planners trying to organize the tourney celebrating your’s and Renjun’s upcoming wedding that would be held on the royal grounds was your bedroom.

If there was anything you yourself would disapprove of is not keeping your word.

You’re sitting on the ottoman by the window of your bedroom, one leg over the other and your hands knit over your knee as you pose for Renjun’s painting. You’re wearing a long turquoise dress, one that doesn’t have a million underskirts. Renjun wanted you to wear a dress that was so undeniably you, and this turquoise gem was it. The soft blues complimented your pacifist nature, and it was incredibly simple too. It is one of those dresses where the top is laced up, creating a ‘v’ on your chest, and underneath, to keep you modest is a white under-dress. The sleeves are conical and long, which is one of your favorite styles. Your parents didn’t like this dress after you requested the seamstress to make it because it looked like something a working-class girl would wear, which after that, was the reason why you weren’t allowed to request dresses anymore and your mother would do that. You were only available at the dress fittings, which bored you beyond end.

It was just another way for your mother to silence you.

After some ten minutes of Renjun painting, you had a hard time remaining still, and that was when Renjun asked you to focus on something. You thoroughly focused your gaze on him, at his furrowed eyebrows at how he paints, dipping his brush in water, mixing new paints on his wooden palette. It’s as if the rest of the world is drowned out as he paints, and he exists only with you, his canvas, and his brushes. The way his eyes would drink in your appearance to replicate on the canvas made your heart rise to your throat; not so hidden in his eyes is his lust.

Renjun stops for a few moments. His fingers are at his chin as he looks pensive, looking between the canvas and you. His eyes are glazed, and his lips are pursed when he suddenly says something in a raw voice.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Excuse me?” You shoot back, stunned.

“You heard me.”

You’re not sure what’s happening in your chest, if your heart completely stopped beating or it’s beating so fast that you can’t even tell its keeping you alive.

You’re finally able to regain your composure when you say back wittily, “I guess you’re turning into the kind of painter that ogles naked women and sleeps with their muses.”

“I guess so,” Renjun smirks.

Your simple dress slips off your shoulders and falls to the ground when you unclasp the hook resting at the nape of your neck, and the following hooks that went down to your mid back. You’re left in your underdress, and your corset is beneath that.

“Beautiful,” Renjun murmurs. At the way you stop, reveling in his attention, Renjun chuckles. “Now take it off. All of it.” Renjun says. He watches how you untie your white underdress that is fastened by a thin bow on your waist, and he watches how the string comes undone, and the dress comes to your feet. You untie your corset in the same way and discard it carelessly to the side.

“I never liked that thing anyway.”

Renjun’s eyes travel down your body, to the way your waist is curved, beautiful with an hourglass shape and a cute paunch. He watches how the nubs of your breasts become hard at the way they are exposed too long, and to a man for the first time.

You sit back down on the ottoman. You think about re-creating the pose you were doing but think against it. As a caterpillar comes out of its cocoon to become a butterfly, you shed your cocoon of clothes and become this butterfly.

And you love how your nakedness weakens the man in front of you.

You reposition yourself on the ottoman, the expression on your face playful and carefree as you let your breasts hang on your chest shamelessly, plaching your arm between your narrowly-open legs to cover your womanhood. At the way your shoulder hunches, you create a cleavage on your chest.

It’s as if you’re Medusa, turning him into stone as he not-so-secretly ogles, the strokes of his brush against the canvas more sparse.

All of a sudden, you leap from the ottoman and saunter to Renjun, who stares up at you from his sitting position.

“You know you’re supposed to stand when you’re in the presence of royalty. That’s basic manners.” With a coy smile on your face, you swat his shoulder, your breasts jiggling and almost hitting his face.

“Y-yes Your Highness,” Renjun says, bashfully looking away. He stumbles as he stands, and you can see even through his thick breeches a large erection. You can’t stop yourself from giggling as you grab him. Your bed is barely a meter away from where Renjun is, and you grab his shoulders and push him backwards, forcing him under you on the bed.

You have both of his wrists in his hand as you animalistically kiss him, your womanhood searching for his manhood underneath his clothes. You can feel his rough stubble from his cheeks after maybe two days of not shaving, and it feels delicious, that you’re being touched, fucked by a real man. Renjun passionately enjoys your kiss, biting and sucking your lips as he pushes his tongue into your mouth. Your tongues war inside your mouth, sliding against each other in a slobbery way that is normally disgusting, but beautiful if it is done with the right person. You gasp as his tongue reaches further and further down your mouth, almost entering your throat. Your second of shock allows Renjun’s wrists to slip from your grip, and he places them on your naked side, squeezing the softer part of your body, his hands slowly climbing up and down your back until finally, he gives your rump a delicious squeeze. Panting, you finally find his hard dick under his clothes, and you hump him as hard as you can, moving your hips along Renjun’s body, shaking your bed.

“Slower, Your Highness. You don’t want to break the bed,” Renjun chuckles.

Renjun audibly moans at how you’re riding him, but slowly, the pleasure comes to an end. Renjun opens his eyes (that he didn’t realize was closed) to see you slide off of the bed, reaching from the side to pull off his breeches.

“You’re reading my mind,” he says. You’re able to pull his thick breeches and pull up his tucked-in shirt to find his cock hidden in his underclothes. You pull it down to Renjun’s mid-thigh, watching with excitement as his cock springs out, large and erected at how much your humping aroused him. You reach out and excite his member some more, moving the delicate skin up and down, squeezing his hard length.

Leaning forward, you decide that it is time to suck, and you wrap your lips around his cock. You move your head up and down his length, your lips following, shielding your teeth from coming in contact with his sensitive skin. Your tongue swirls around his member, creating obscure saliva designs, and you can hear Renjun above you, turning into puddy by the minute as you pleasure him.

Your mouth starts to fill with seed suddenly, and you gulp it down, tasting the sweet cherry pie that was for desert tonight in his cum. You close your eyes blissfully, and you don’t even realize that Renjun is sitting up. With a strength you didn’t even know he possessed, he pulls you up to his side, and he climbs on top of you.

He’s ready to take charge.

Renjun takes your lips into his mouth as he freely moves his hands on you as if he’s never going to touch you again. He hands travel from your cheeks to your jawbone, moving down to your collarbone and then your nice, plush breasts. He spends a few moments there, letting his hands massage the soft flesh, and you can feel moans leave your mouth. After a few moments, he focuses on your nipples, pinching them until you yelp. Then, his hands travel down your body, to your slightly paunchy stomach and your curvy sides. His hands wander to your throbbing womanhood, and his lips wander to the side of your neck.

You’re overcome with more pleasure than you think is possible.

“You’re so beautiful, like art.” Renjun murmurs as he pulls away from your neck, starting lovingly at your ruffled hair, at your smooth skin, at your bruising breasts and neck that will surely yield black and purple marks from tonight’s activities.

You smirk at him. “Then you should be looking, not touching.”

Renjun’s eyes glow at how you use your wit, how mischievous, how playful yet serious you can be. He’s lucky to consider a woman like you his betrothed.

“You’re the exception.”

Once those words slice the air, you feel Renjun’s fingers force themselves inside of you. About to scream, Renjun takes his other hand and places it over your mouth.

“You don’t want the world to hear how good you’re getting fucked, hmm?” Renjun asks in a soft voice. Your screams remain trapped between your lips and his palm as Renjun forces one, two, four fingers into your womanhood. Your legs are flailing, but Renjun’s position on top of you keeps him steady on your body.

Everything that comes out of your mouth is just a jumble, but you can hear yourself whimper and moan while saying “please.”

“You’re so well-mannered, Your Highness,” Renjun coos. “Oh, look,” Renjun notices. “Something came,”

You don’t realize the white-ish, clear-ish liquid that came out from how fucked you were getting until you look down.

As Renjun leans down for a taste, you suddenly close your legs. Renjun’s hands travel to your upper thighs, his knees on the ground since he hopped out of the bed.

“Please please let me taste it, Your Highness,” Renjun begs from underneath you. His eyes become larger, rounder, and you realize that the power has shifted to you. For you and for Renjun, you realize that you both don’t fully take control of the bed, but it comes in waves. As Renjun becomes more submissive, you can feel yourself inflate, becoming more dominant.

“Beg some more,” you command.

“Please please please,” Renjun says in a string, the word jumbling more and more as he repeats his desire. He nestles his chin between your thighs and looks up at you with wide, innocent-looking eyes.

It was these same eyes that watch you flail around as he inserted digit after digit of his right hand into your vagina. He’s a lion in sheep’s clothing, and you can already feel the little sheep start to suck the skin of your inner thighs, pressing loud smooches. You watch him graze your legs, his nose becoming covered with a dollop of his own saliva as he uses his mouth to convince you.

You don’t realize that you’re opening your legs to fully enjoy the pleasure that Renjun is giving you when you feel his head between your thighs, licking your vagina.

“Mmmhm” Renjun rumbles to himself, enjoying your sex. You can feel loud moans catch in your throat at how skillful his tongue, how sinful this pleasure feels. Renjun moves up your body, to your lower stomach, trailing your skin with your own cum until he finally meets your jawline. He presses more than ten loud smooches to that small piece of your body before surrendering his lips to yours, his mouth tasting like the cherry pie that you ate also that was present in your cum.

Renjun’s hands still linger by your pussy, taking your cum in his hands. You feel slightly ticklish at what he is tracing along your stomach, and you look down, only to see his name written on your skin in your cum.

“Mine,” Renjun says possessively, quickly taking your lips into his mouth. You bring Renjun closer to you, crushing him against your body because you want to become one so badly. You tangle your legs with Renjun’s, feeling his bare, naked member rub against your clit. Renjun decides to drive you crazy, rather than relieving you and your throbbing walls with his large dick, he decides to keep rubbing himself against you.

“Please, please go in, Your Highness,” you address your betrothed, properly. “I need you I need you,” you mumble to yourself.

“Have you got enough room for a future king?” Renjun asks coyly.

“Yes, Your Highness. King Renjun,” you reassure him.

With that, Renjun pounds his length into you, in and out, in and out repeatedly until you start feeling your head spin with delicious pleasure.

Yet at the same time, you feel adrenaline coursing through your veins. You feel like you could lift a mountain with how much energy Renjun’s dick puts inside of you. Renjun shakes a little, roaming his body along yours so that his penis could explore inside of your walls. You gasp at how good that feels, how your walls squeeze his member, craving for his seed that dried up after you gulped it down like a hungry child.

As your mind wanders, the whole world turning into background noise as Renjun’s dick pounds into you, you whimper at the pain, how Renjun is tearing at your hymen. Yet, you still feel pleasured at the sensation, satisfying Renjun’s manly needs, and your needs for new experiences.

You look down at your stomach, and maybe it’s your mind playing tricks on you, but you swear you see the outline of Renjun’s penis in your stomach as it roams around. You gasp and whine at how good the feeling is, how rough Renjun’s hands are while he grips your sides, and Renjun pulls out, his member dripping with his seed, arousal that coursed in him due to being inside of you. He pounds his length into you more and more as he looks into your eyes.

You feel as though you could be trapped in this moment forever, of just you and Renjun panting to a rhythm that only you two know, completely naked as Renjun puts a little more of himself in you, making you both into one person. You think that all your problems being a royal, the daughter of your father, the impending stress of taking your kingdom and enforcing a newer, freer, more modern rule that hasn’t been seen or heard before. Certainly your royal advisors would be against it, only interested in perpetuating the old ways.

Those problems feel elevated knowing that Renjun is by your side. Fucking your brains out every night.

Renjun heaves a breath as he finally pulls out of you completly for a second time, lying down next to you. His member is still seeping with cum, and with a mischevious glance, you climb on top of him, your nipples barely touching his chest with how you’re positioned on top of him. You grab his penis, pleasuring it for a little bit before squeezing out more cum from your betrothed. He moans at your touching, and you can feel him shifting his position so he can enjoy you on top of him more. Pulling yourself away slightly, you trace your name onto his skin.

“Mine,” you say with a cheeky grin, admiring your handiwork under the moonlight that filtered into your bedroom.

All of the animalistic urges are gone from you two, and you both are panting heavily at the activity of the last hour, staring into each others’ eyes, shocked that you both were capable of such passion. You bring your face a few centimeters away his chest and kiss his heart. Renjun coos at you, gently placing his lips on your jaw. He trails soft kisses along your collarbone until he kissing the soft flesh of your breasts. He sucks on the nubs of your breasts, this time he is the infant, and he places his head between your breasts.

“I suppose we were overenthusiastic about our jobs, and made a male heir too quickly,” Renjun murmurs between the mounds called your breasts. Your laugh only causes them to jiggle, causing Renjun to laugh too.

“We’ll find out if we were successful if I skip my period.”

“The birth date would certainly raise some eyebrows among the Royal Court,” Renjun chuckles.

“It would, but then I would remind them that their wives are waiting for them at home, waiting for them to finish their work in the castle and nothing else,” you have a cutely evil look on your face, and Renjun picks up what you try to hint.

There’s silence between you and Renjun. He pulls his face away from your breasts, and your faces are so close, you can feel the shadow of his nose on yours.

“I love you,” Renjun says quietly. “From our first conversation in the library, I’ve known you’re the one.” Renjun waits in anticipation for your answer. You trace the outline of his face with your index finger.

“I love you too. I’m glad that if I’m allied with anyone in this cold world, it’s you.”

Renjun sighs, and your faces slide against each other. Completely naked under the romantic silver moonlight that pools on your’s and Renjun’s flesh, you act as though cuddling with your beloved like this is the most normal thing in the world.

“I’ll never let you down.”

The day of the tourney has arrived. Your father and Renjun’s have spent the greater part of two months preparing for this tourney, providing your mother the funds to put it together. If there’s anything a royal woman loved is party planning, and a tourney is just in your mother’s wheelhouse.

All of your noble friends have been invited, dukes and earls, barons and other landlords that your family is on good terms with. They are said to bring their families, that this was one grand party.

You’re seated with your mother and father, and Renjun is by your side. The King of Neo would be arriving late today, discussing some terms of the agreement he and your father came up with to his weapons suppliers, and he would be joining you later.

Together, your family and Renjun are watching a fencing match between two men, but the stakes are raised higher in this match: the two competitors must fence on horses. Until one man is unhorsed, the match will continue.

You never understood the point of watching two men fight on horses, but it is something you’ve gotten used to attending hundreds of matches with your family. What was the point in all this when the kingdom needs help?

Sighing, you keep your thoughts to yourself. Renjun is sitting beside you with equal boredom, and you can tell that he probably has the same opinion as you. However, neither of you suggested leaving for some alone time because after all, this whole event was held in your name. Together, you would imitate the cheers of the other dukes and earls sitting with you, agreeing when they would talk about fencing strategy.

The man in a dark horse and slim, fitting steel armor is Jung Jaehyun, a knight that was trained in Ambrosia. His father was a lower baron, but his status increased the second that his son was accepted into the King’s Guard when you were just a little girl. With his helmet and his clean strokes to his opponent, you’re reminded of the girlish crush you had on him as he ingratiated himself with your father. However, he married the daughter of an earl and had a daughter that was a few years younger than you.

Normally, a man can be unhorsed by Jung Jaehyun in the matter of minutes, but his opponent is not giving up. The other man is someone you do not recognize after your years of attending tourneys and matches. He must be some new talent if he is able to be on the roster for the tourney and face of Jaehyun for this long.

From the others around you, this man’s name is Qian Kun, and he’s from a different kingdom (those around you are throwing around more names than you can keep up with). He’s on a white horse, wearing minimal armour and determination on his face. His name is whispered as if he’s a forbidden secret. If one thing’s for sure, he’s keeping the audience interested – even you and Renjun are focused.

Every thrust that Jaehyun throws, this Kun is able to block it, moving his body with a flexibility that you know for sure Jaehyun has. Jaehyun has brute force, from what you learned watching him, and he’s able to break down his opponents by being relentless. Most don’t have the skill to dodge.

After multiple dodges and audience gasps, Kun starts attacking in his own right. You think that Jaehyun took the phrase ‘the best defense is offense’ too seriously because he struggles to dodge Kun’s shots. He’s so used to being on the attack that he doesn’t know how to defend himself properly. Being a big fish in Ambrosia make his skill in taking a strong opponent weak.

It doesn’t take long for Kun to unhorse Jaehyun, and Jaehyun falls unceremoniously to the ground. The umpire calls it a match and races towards Kun, pulling his hand up in the air to signify to the audience that he really won. The audience is in shock before a few people start clapping, and then the rest. Kun gets a standing ovation from you and Renjun, and the others in the tourney follow in suit.

The winners of matches get to enjoy the fruits of their rigorous training. There’s a cash prize, and for a boy like Kun, who wears homemade-looking armour and has a tan on his face and neck from rough outdoor work, the cash prize is something that can alleviate his and his family’s pain.

Finally, you see Renjun’s father, the King of Neo, appear after all the hoopla that Qian Kun’s victory was for this torney. Another match would be taking place between two different knights or other sportsmen.

“What a match you missed!” Your father says to Renjun’s in a light tone.

There’s something different in the air with the King of Neo. All of a sudden, you feel as though the eyes of the world are around you. While you’re surrounded by a few of the nobles that your family is close with, the others are scattered around, and if you really think about it, the others sitting around you beside them are completely unfamiliar. They are people that Renjun’s father brought from Neo who are allegedly very close to his family, who would want to honor the marriage of their prince with the princess of Ambrosia.

The King of Neo nods, and then hands grab your father and mother, as well as your family friends. You feel the tight grasp of familiar hands on your forearms, and you look behind you, to see it’s Renjun.

His gaze isn’t recognizable. He only looks to his father, waiting for his instruction.

Your father is cursing, spitting, while your mother’s face is drained of all blood as she stares in horror around her.

“Renjun?” You ask, looking at your betrothed, hoping this was all some sort of game or mistake, but a part deep down in you knows that it’s not either.

“Where to, father?” Renjun asks, avoiding your gaze. His grip on you becomes tighter.

“Take them to the cellar.”

You feel almost stupid as the story is unfolded in front of you. Renjun and his father are the Resistance, and their identities have been cloaked well. Ambrosia, as the largest kingdom in the area, was vulnerable, and the people were struggling and starving. All the King of Neo had to do was inject the idea of revolution by distributing literature that cried for revolution, and educate people that life could be better than being a peasant. Declare independence from your ruler, like those in France and America few years before. That worked as a recruiting process, and made his organization stronger. It gave him ears everywhere and a wonderful plan to destroy Ambrosia and take the fertile land for himself.

The information that your family is almost bankrupt passed to the Resistance through maids that were seen and not heard, and Renjun’s father set up a match that your father could not refuse. It was a perfectly crafted offer that would make any normal man suspicious. You guess your father was just despirate to make his money problems go away.

So Renjun came, his father got what he wanted from your father, and now you were trapped in a cell, your castle sieged. Wooing you or no wooing you, your father would have forced you to marry Renjun, but in the time that you’ve been locked up, you concluded that Renjun enjoyed watching you fall for him.

Huang Renjun was one hell of a trojan horse. Always be wary if a deal is too good. And always be wary when someone is just too perfect.

You’ve never felt so stupid and childish before. Thinking that after the tourney, you would start seeing dressmakers who would taylor your wedding dress. Hire musicians, cooks, cleaners, and waiters. Tasting delicacies that will be present at the wedding meal. You thought that you were going to be with Renjun forever, but you now realize that forever was just a fantasy.

Instead, you were starving. Compared to the delicious, decadent three meals per day that you were used to seeing, the mysterious mush that gaolers presented you did not sit in your stomach well, and sometimes, your meal times were skipped. You never knew when your next meal came.

You guess you now understand the life of the poor people of Ciel.

One day, out of deliriousness and anguish, from the lack of sleep you were getting on the floor of a wine cellar, you threw your hot mush at the guard who opened the door to give you one of your meals. He hit you across the head and you fell over anticlimactically like a rag doll.

Furious at this insolence, the higher-ups of the Resistance decided to tortue you some more. Forcing your head into a bucket of ice cold water. Ripping open your skirt. Beating you with anything they had on them; once a gaoler beat you with a spoon. You’re chained to the floor as the door opens, and your new gaoler is in front of you.

It’s none other than Huang Renjun, the same way you met him but different. His hair is combed back, and he wears a warm overcoat, trousers, and long boots. He has a small book in his pocket. It’s Oresteia by Aeschylus. The weather has been getting colder in the few weeks you’ve been trapped under the castle that you’ve always called your home.

Renjun drops the plate in front of you. He can’t even bear to look at you.

“How are you enjoying Oresteia?” You challenge, venom in your voice. God, what you thought you would do after you saw Renjun on that fateful day at the tourney. You thought you would slap him and kick him and hurt him in the way that you have been hurting in the past few weeks.

Since you’re too weak to do any of that, you settle for some ‘dull’ conversation about a book, a book that brought you two together. How apt.

“It’s good.” Renjun says simply. He looks away. He doesn’t say anything more than that. Where is that spirit that impressed you when you first met? You wonder if that was a sham.

Renjun is about to leave when he stops himself. He turns around and faces you. You, out of all people, deserved an explanation. He shuts the thick door of your cell. He doesn’t face you as he clears his throat.

“You know, I didn’t want to do any of that.” He struggles to say any of this, to verbally disagree with his father. His father is the seed he came from. You are not his blood at all. Words made this whole fiasco more real.

“Really?” You ask, unimpressed. The dark circles under his eyes tell you that he needs your forgiveness so he can sleep at night.

“It went too far. Why couldn’t he just be happy with what he had?” Renjun grovels, not speaking to you in particular anymore.

“I want to speak with my father. Or my mother,” you command icily.

Renjun sits down. “They’re dead. Beheaded two days ago.” His voice is dry and cold. “My father went with them.”

You gulp. This information isn’t that shocking, yet you feel bile rise in your throat. You knew any news of your parents would mean death. They represent everything that the proletarians hated about the upper class. They would be the first to be kill. Yet still, knowing that the people who raised you, the people who you didn’t always agree with, were erased forever from this world makes your heart sink.

You don’t have any other siblings. You are now truely alone in this world.

But then the second part of the news sinks in your brain. You raise your brow. Renjun explains. He finally has someone he can process these events with.

“Once the other members of the Resistance found out that my father only gathered them so that he could take over, they killed him.” He choked. “Knowing that their cause was manufactured so that another king could rule them made him just as bad. I swore my fealty to the new Resistance in exchange for my life. The organization has decided on a new leader today. A man named Bang.”

“Just a few hours ago, five of your dearest earls were killed. The ones at the tourney. Bang and his cronies are scouring the records of anyone who was friendly with your family.”

You snort a little. Renjun looks at you, and he knows that he deserved it.

“Poetic justice, I guess,” you say, speaking about the deceased King of Neo. Renjun shrugged his shoulder. After a silence ensues between the two of you, Renjun gulps in a deep breath.

“You know, they want to kill you next. Who better than the offspring of the Mad King?” He asks rhetorically. You were prepared for this. It’s not like you were going to be held in a dungeon until the end of time. You were going to have to face the music for your father’s crimes against his people. It felt so unfair, but it couldn’t be helped.

“I’ve been postponing it. I tried to postpone your parents’ execution too.”

You didn’t even realize that you were holding your breath.

“Even after all of this, I still care about you.” Renjun says. His voice is small, as if he’s afraid of someone hearing his declaration of love. After all, there is still a guard posted outside these echoey cellar walls.

Who you thought was a sweet, sensitive, artistic man was one who was always under the thumb of someone else, be it his father or this Bang character.

“You’ll care about me until your new master calls,” you say derisively.

Renjun pursed his lips.

“I deserved that. But I want to be better for you.”

You bite your lower lip.

“How?”

Renjun’s lips are close to your ear; you can barely hear the words he’s saying.

“My men found a network of tunnels down here. One of the rocks on this wall is movable and will open a passage inside. I will give you a map. When you are done reading, eat it up, so there’s no paper trail.

“When I give you a lantern, you know that that is the time. I’ll give you a watch and a slip of paper about the time that there are the least guards watching the outside of this castle. I’ll distract anyone else. All you have to do is run. Got it?” Renjun asks.

You’re stunned. Immediately, you want to tell him that you’ve got it, but you’re now suspicious. After all, your family’s demise was being too trusting to the wrong people.

And Renjun has proven that he’s the wrong person.

“How do I know if I can trust you?” You ask.

“It’s the only choice you have. If you don’t escape using this plan and try to run off any other way, then you will be caught, tortured, and beheaded. The Resistance is scary business. You want my help. I’m their inside man. And I love you. I still do, even after all of this.”

You sigh. You could be fooled again. But it’s better than rotting in a wine cellar at the mercy of the Resistance, living every day hoping it’s not the day of your beheading. At least running gave you an iota of control that you lacked your whole life, as a royal or as a ragged prisoner.

And there’s something else. His eyes. His eyes were able to fool you once, but there is something truthful to it this time.

You don’t have to say anything for Renjun to understand your agreement.

The lantern comes only a few weeks later. Since Renjun came to you with a plan of escape, you’ve felt more lively, and Renjun notices that as your gaoler for a few weeks. Due to the “good behavior” that Renjun vouched, you were unchained once again in your cell.

Your first small step towards freedom.

Renjun is able to slip in a few delicacies that Bang and his cronies are eating upstairs in the dining room that you used to eat your whole life. One day an apple pie, another lamb stew with herbs. While you gobbled down that food – the only food you’re actually able to stomach – he would engage in a brief conversation with you; it was the only social interaction you’ve had since the Resistance took over and placed siege on the castle, yet he would only stay long enough that Bang would not grow suspicious of him.

Renjun handed you the map only a few days before the true escape, which was when you knew that the biggest moment of your life was coming. He wanted you to learn by heart the tunnels in the castle, enough so that you can reproduce the map in your head, and he didn’t want to give you the map too early in case you forgot. Obediently, you learned the map as best as you can, associating certain turns as if you were walking above ground in the castle that you were raised in. Once you were done, you ate the map, as Renjun said so no evidence would be left behind.

“180 degrees, vertical” was all he said. You knew what that meant; 6pm. You had no way of keeping time in your little, windowless cell, so Renjun gave you a pocket watch. It wasn’t just any pocket watch, but your fathers that he always kept in his breeches. Overwhelmed with emotion, you dismiss the man who is saving your life, and clutch the pocket watch.

A few minutes to six, you start palming the stone walls of the cellar, hoping to find the notch that will open a door that is your entrance to the secret passage. Your heart is in your throat as you claw the walls like a despirate animal, until finally you hit the right one. Using the minimal light and the small, hidable lantern that Renjun gave you, you trudge through the secret passage, remembering the map he gave you clearly, each step you take being another “dash” of your path on the map. You successfully navigate until you see a trapdoor. It requires a key for it to open, but you have a beautiful hairpin still in your hair from the day of the tourney. As you wiggle the pin into the lock, you take a deep sigh. This is a side exit that shouldn’t reveal your escape quite immediately.

Your heart is pounding restlessly as the open air touches your skin. The warm sun and fresh, cool air feel good against your skin, where in the past few weeks, you’ve been entombed in stale air. You gleefully inhale the scent of the garden’s orchids, which is wafting from the garden that is north of your estate.

You linger a little longer than you should. Renjun didn’t have to say it for you to know that this will be the last time you will see your beloved home ever again. Nothing will ever be the same again. You won’t be a high class woman (not that that mattered much to you anyway), you won’t have your excursions with Doyoung (what happened to him?), you won’t have your exquisite library anymore.

Your love for Renjun is a distant memory. Today, you will be leaving everything behind.

Your lingering turns to loitering when you feel a bright flash hit your face.

“The prisoner!” A guard shouts. He rushes towards you, and you are just quick enough to slip away into the large woods in your estate. You used to play here as a child, and you know the woods like its the back of your hand, and just as Renjun’s map promised, the areas you ran through were sparse of guards.

You can feel more footsteps thumping the ground as more and more men join the first man that noticed you loitering, and you feel nauseous. You can feel yourself screaming in your head that this is your one last shot, you can’t afford to mess up, and Renjun can’t even help you if you were caught.

Wading through the creek nearby with your bare feet, you run into a ditch, taking scrap leaves from the ground and covering yourself with the debris. You’re too out of breath to keep running anymore; the gruel has not been doing you any favors. You hide in a nearby ditch, clothing yourself in debris and the shadow.

“Sir, she went through the water,” you hear one man say.

“Then get into it!” Another man said, more likely the head of this security unit. “You all are a bunch of pussies, a little water doesn’t hurt anybody!”

You hear some reluctant groans as the men trudge through the creek, and you hear the shuffling of various feet at various positions, making it impossible to pinpoint where the noise is truly coming from.

You’ve never been more terrified in your life. You’re honestly not sure how you’ll react if one of the men on that security team find you. Will you scream? Will you cry? Will your heart break into two pieces knowing what lies in wait for you when you’re sent back to the Resistance? To another, worse cell burrowed deeper into the castle cellar than your previous cell? Tourtue would surely be a staple if you were caught. These are thoughts you want to filter out of your mind, but they seem to be infesting your thoughts.

“I don’t see her,” you hear one man say.

“I don’t either,” another man says. You feel slight relief coursing through your veins.

“What should we do, sir,” one man asks his superior.

He takes a deep breath. He shuffles through the woods, causing the anxiety and adrenaline to spike in your veins, and he takes a look around once more.

“Here’s what we will say,” you hear feet shuffling as the men get closer to their commander. “The girl died. She fell down that cliff over there,” he points to the cliff at the distance, the cliff that gives you a view of the Kingdom of Ambrosia. “We don’t mention what really happened here. Understood?” You can imagine that all the men are nodding.

As you hear the mens’ footsteps receding, you wait for ten minutes before your head peaks from the ditch. The sun has fallen, leaving the world pitch black.

Quietly, you shed off the debris from your pitiful dress as a snake sheds its skin.

Now begins your new life.

1802

You think you have seen the sun rise and set almost four thousand times since you escaped from the Resistance’s clutches. You haven’t seen or spoken to Renjun in the past eleven years, and he’s as good as dead. In the end, he righted his wrong, and you are not as bitter as you were when you were thrown into that cellar.

That night, you traveled tirelessly north from the woods of your estate, going somewhere you didn’t know yet. All you saw were woods and woods and woods. Maybe a racoon or two. Plenty of squirrels. You tried to talk to some, but that didn’t work very well. It was the loneliest period of your life.

Towns you considered settling in littered the landscape once you crossed Ambrosia’s boarder. Every day, you became a little less fearful that you were being searched for by the Resistance, and eventually, your quest for a new home came to an end after three months of searching. The peaceful little town you would be settling in was called Heaven’s Gate, called because of its high, rocky shores well above sea level.

From the newspapers, you observed the rise of the Resistance, with more and more bloodshed every day that Bang was in power. Eventually, he was beheaded, and the whole Resistance fell apart. From then, Democracy slowly rebuilt the area. In honor of its roots, the state that is your old home is now the Democratic State of Ambrosia.

The switch into democracy didn’t stop peoples’ fascination with the former royal family that was wiped out. There were public records of the death of your mother and father with images of their bodies and eyewitnesses of their death, but none of you. This lead many scholars to believe that you were still alive somewhere.

It’s a nicer alternative to the current narrative.

You smile at the few books and pamphlets you found in your new home’s library detailing the reasons why people think you are alive and where you are now. The common theory is that you boarded a ship to America as a stowaway, living your best life.

It occurred to you that if you walked a little longer, perhaps a few weeks, you could get to the coast and become the stowaway like the stories said and land yourself in America. That would truely be a fresh start. But to leave your homeland? Never.

The people of Heaven’s Gate were quite unassuming. Nobody asked many questions about your life before Heaven’s Gate. You took on a new identity, and the role as the town’s healer. At the ripe age of thirty-one, you have decided that Heaven’s Gate is your children and that you will repent for the sins of your father against his people.

You operate your healing out of your home, and thanks to healing a construction worker’s mother, you got an extension for your practice built for practically free. There is an entrance to your office from directly outside, a little waiting room, and an operating room for you to examine the sick. Definetly much better than your travelling medic act in Ciel.

As you sweep the floors of the operating room, you hear a knock on the door.

“Come in!” You shout.

In comes your apprentice Yoona, who has a strange man limping, leaning against her for support, his messenger bag dragging against the dirt.

“I found him by the creek. He’s already rubbed some marigold paste on his wound, but I wanted to see if you could do anything else with it.”

When you look at the man, it’s like you’ve seen him before. He’s around your age, wearing shabby, dirt-trodden clothes of someone who has begged for their whole life. He hasn’t looked like he’s showered in days, and he’s thin like a stick, but at the same time, he looks… content?

Nothing about this man made sense. Beggars didn’t know that marigold stops infections. Where could he have learned that? A friend? He looks like he’s been wandering alone for a long time.

Deciding not to much further thought into those observations, you notice how Yoona looks at you for a way to proceed.

“Right,” you say, hoping to hide how taken aback you are. “Any sickness? Headaches, sniffling, coughing?” You ask.

“None yet,” the man says grimly. “Although that bread looks very nice.” His gaze falls to the bread pan you have in the kitchen next door to your wing, fresh out of the oven. Despite how content this man looks, there’s a glint in his eye that betrays the hunger that gnaws at him, from days of starvation, running off of whatever he could find, most likely berries on the land. The man in front of you doesn’t emanate skill in hunting either, or else he would have a bow and arrow with him.

Out of pity, you take the bread from your kitchen and bring it into your operating room, letting Yoona shoulder the man into your extension. She lays him down on the bed, and nods out. She will be getting the standard items — water from the well, a few blankets, and spare clothes that you kept washed to give to anyone that came to you for medical help — sometimes, just being clean helps cure the illness more than medicine.

Once she leaves, it’s just you and this stranger. You curiously watch him as he gnaws on the bread, a look of relief in his eyes at not having to forage for this food. Something about this stranger though feels so familiar. But you don’t know how. Any associates of your family were wiped out during the violent period of the Resistance, so no one you love from your old life is left on this Earth.

Since the man already used your standard cure of marigold leaves, the only thing left for you to do is to rub a fresh coat, wrap a bandage around his wound, and hand him poppy seeds to put him to sleep faster since he has no signs of infection. Sleep is also an excellent cure.

When you hand him some poppy seeds, the man shakes his head. “I can take that in a little bit. Really I’m fine,” You look into this deep brown eyes, and the feeling of you knowing this man is gnawing at your brain. “Can you hand me my bag?” He asks. You look dubiously at him and to the poppy seeds still in your hands. “I promise I will take them.”

Knowing that you’re not going to breech this patient’s stubbornness, you grab his bag and place the poppy seeds into a small piece of cloth. The flap on top of the bag is pulled back, revealing a sketchbook and a small canvas. Memories, painful memories haunt your conscience of the boy who fooled you and then saved you.

Watching the man take his sketchbook, he opens to a page of roses. Immediately, the storming of the Carcel rushes back to you. At the way you’re watching the canvas peak out of the man’s messenger bag, he breaks the silence between you.

“I can show you what’s inside too.” He says. But you already have an idea what it is. Putting his sketchbook aside, the man pulls out the slightly dusty, smudged canvas.

It’s you. Naked. That fateful night.

“Huang Renjun?” You ask, finally able to find your voice.

The man smiles, confirming his identity. “I was beginning to think I would have to reintroduce myself.”

You’re completely flabbergasted. “W-What are you doing here?” You ask, your jaw practically dropping to the ground.

“Getting healed. Remember?” He points to his wounded leg.

“I know that,” You snort. “What I mean to say is how are you alive? Wouldn’t Bang have had your head since you let me escape? And then the ending of the Resistance. You were extremely high-profile. How did you avoid death all these years?”

Renjun stares into the distance, recounting his life in the past ten-ish years. “I wasn’t as high-profile as you’d think. I was the Resistance’s painter, painting portraits of high-profile Resistance members. And I was a gaoler. Something about my presence,” Renjun gestures.

Smiling, you agree. “You do have a power over people. Quite a comforting jailer.”

“I was close to the action, but was never really involved in it. I was more of a servant to Resistance members, if you will. And then the Resistance was overthrown. Any “close” members were taken into an interrogation center. I gave up everything I knew in exchange for a presidential pardon on War Crimes. That lead to the execution of Bang and his lackeys. Their over-the-table chatter led me to know about a little residence they have in Corsica where they went when things got too tough,” Renjun says ruefully.

You nodded, absorbing every part of this story.

“And then I heard rumors from old associates from my former kingdom. Neo is now a democracy. And then the papers. That you were alive somewhere. Deep down in my heart, I know you’re a fighter, you’re the strongest person that I know, and I just knew you couldn’t have died somewhere. I would have felt it.” Renjun places a fist against his heart.

“As I searched for you, I completed this canvas of you with the last of my expensive paints from my time with the Resistance. That’s how I felt so connected to you, so sure you were alive.” Renjun smiles at the painting, letting himself get lost in time.

He slowly moves his gaze from the painting that provided him condolence and guidance, his eyes glassy. “And here you are in front of me. Living your life. This is the life you always wanted, isn’t it? No royal chaos, no backstabbing and plotting. Just healing.”

You nod. “I’m happier in this little house in this nowhere town, paid mostly through favors and the peoples’ love of me,” you smile. “I’ve always wanted to be loved.”

“I remember,” Renjun says.

Your hand finds Renjun’s. You study the sight. With the dirt caked under Renjun’s fingernails and all the creases in your hands from the mashing and plucking of herbs from questionable places, you can hardly tell that you both experienced a royal life. Genuinely, it feels like it was a lifetime ago.

“There were times that I wanted to give up finding you, though. This is a big, wide world, and you could be anywhere. The rumors could have been right, and you could be on a boat to America, and I wouldn’t know better. My intuition could only tell me that you’re still alive.

“After seven years of being the Resistance’s little puppet, I was ready to find a purpose in my life again. As cliche as it might sound, my life had meaning when you were in it. Otherwise, I was always working for someone else, whether it was my father or Bong. This was the one thing I wanted to do in my lifetime.

“I had been wandering around for a while, visiting village after village, town after town, never staying too long. I wanted to settle down, but I was also attached to my mission to find you again. So I’d move on. Then your assistant found me. When I walked into this town, and then your house, it screamed of you. After all these years, I was finally sure of something.”

You’re silent for a long time after this monologue, processing every single word, racking your brain to say something, anything.

“The period of my life with you was the happiest. I wasn’t meant for the royal life, but having someone who felt the same way felt as though we were meant for each other. And then the Resistance happened. And then you saved me. You corrected one bad deed with one good deed. I don’t miss the old Ambrosia and my old life which is what made me able to forgive you after I escaped. I miss my parents sometimes, though. But if it wasn’t your family and the Resistance, it would have been something else — monarchies are growing out of style.” You chuckle.

Another silence between you two. You’re out of words to say to each other, enough of the small-talk. Without you realizing, you come closer to Renjun, closer and closer until your chests are pressed together, and you can smell Renjun’s breath. A thin layer of dirt and sweat cover his face, and you take your thumb to brush his cheek, making a visible mark on his face.

“I never thought I’d be in this moment with you, but the Universe is kind. I love you Y/N.” The fat tears falling from his eyes make tracks along his skin. You feel the stinging sensation of tears developing your eyes. You don’t realize how much you’ve suffered. Townspeople have tried to set you up with their sons, uncles, friends. But you’ve always rejected. At first it’s because you wanted to be a dedicated healer, and it would be difficult to do that with children. But now you know the real reason, and he’s standing in front of you.

Huang Renjun. He is the reason. Despite all that has happened, despite how he expedited the end of the Kingdom of Ambrosia, you loved him more than you ever realized. Enough that it seems like that love is about to burst. After all these years of being alone, you finally feel complete.

Grabbing Renjun’s cheeks, you pull him impossibly closer to you, letting your lips land on his and suck his dry, parched lips, but you don’t care. Renjun grabs your waist as he kisses you back.

Your breaths hitting each other’s noses, you finally pull away, your noses touching, as if your bodies can’t bear to be apart any longer.

You were finally going to have your happy ending.

tagging: @peachjaem00 @infnteen @zennymeow-blog @shwizhies

a/n (2): if you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! as my longest fic yet, i've spent countless hours on this fic, and i'm glad to publish the final results. i hope you found this fic enjoyable, and let me know what you thought in the comments or in an ask :3

#of course the tags didnt work the first time #nct #renjun #huang renjun #nct angst #nct smut #nct fluff #renjun fluff #renjun scenarios #renjun angst #renjun imagines #nct imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream smut #renjun smut

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gojos-thot-patrol · 8 months

Text

I've been promising this one for awhile.

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Starring: Mafia Boss!Sukuna

My contribution to @chrollohearttags Tales from the Underbelly collab! In which Gojo accidentally kidnaps the wrong girl, and our "heroes" have to decide what to do with her.

Content includes: slow burn smut, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, blood kink if ya squint, and slight indulgence of the writers breeding kink.

Trigger warnings include: Kidnapping, gun violence, gore, a dog attack, an attempt at assault and the use of the word "ravenette" once as a dare. Reader discretion is advised.

Your mom had warned you about meeting strange men online. You had assumed at the time it was just her weird boomer-esque tendencies, a fear born before the time of tinder. But as you breathed in your own breath from inside this itchy burlap sack, sitting tied up in this not-at-all comfortable chair, you started to think maaaybe she was on to something.

It wasn’t your fault though, truly it wasn’t. This guy was hot. Like, unbelievably hot. So hot it was stupid. So hot he belonged on the cover of french magazines or in summer blockbuster movies that sell tickets not for the plot- but for the eye candy. Who wouldn’t risk life and limb to get a piece of that? You wondered if Satoru Gojo was his real name, just in case you needed to make a police report. You wondered if you’d get that far.

Okay, Y/n, no no, don’t think like that. That will get you killed. Calm down and assess the situation. What did you last remember? Your date. You met him at a bar, and was genuinely shocked when he matched his profile picture. You made idle chit chat, and your drink came. Did you order that drink? You couldn’t remember now. You did remember it tasting salty for a screwdriver though…

Shit, that guy definitely drugged you. Why?! It made no sense, you probably would have fucked him if he had just asked nicely! Hell, even if he had asked rudely, there was no need for this! You silenced your thoughts as you heard movement. A door opened and the sound of boots on concrete echoed through a far too big to be practical room. And then, a familiar voice.

“No dude, I got her!” That was definitely Gojo, the fuck ass. “It was so easy too.” He was laughing, because of course he was.

“Yea, that’s the problem. Excuse me for being suspicious, but this feels way too easy considering how long we’ve been chasing this woman,” another, much smoother voice said. Oh god, what the fuck had you gotten yourself into now? Why the fuck did weird shit always have to happen to you? It was like you were the main character in some fucked up wattpad, or Tumblr, fanfiction.

“Nah dude, it’s the real deal. Toji doesn’t keep his girl as wrapped up as we’ve been led to believe.” Gojo’s far-too-joyful-for-your-taste voice came again. It was much closer this time. Your body tensed as you realized the two of them were right next to you. “I matched with her on fucking tinder dude! All according to plan!”

“We’ll see about that.” Smoothie voice said. As he did, the bag was ripped off your head, and quite honestly you were too shocked to scream. You took the situation in front of you in with wide panicked eyes. There was your shitty date, looking far too proud of himself considering all he did was kidnap a helpless girl. And another man, crouched in front of your metal chair, taking in your features. Was this just a gang of people that was so attractive it was unfair? He ran a hand though his long dark hair, and knitted his perfectly sculpted eyebrows together as he looked at you. Then shook his head and stood up.

“You really did it now, idiot, that’s the wrong girl!” The ravenette snapped at your former tinder match. Satoru just blinked in disbelief.

“What?” He asked, and Oh boy, your brain started working again! Just in time for you to start screaming at the top of your lungs as the truly horrifying nature of your situation settled into your bones. This startled the men, causing them both to scream, and the dark haired one to even stumble away from you.

“That was such a late reaction!!” Gojo yelled at you as he finally found words again.

“FUCK YOU SATORU GOJO, WHEN YOU KILL ME, I SWEAR I’M GOING TO HAUNT YOUR ASS!” You screamed at him, deciding if you were gonna die here you might as well fling a few threats around.

“You used your real name for the honeytrap?!” The unnamed man hissed, punching Gojo in the shoulder.

“Hey!” Gojo yelped, “I thought it was her! I didn’t think it was gonna matter! What are we going to do Suguru?!” Oh, so Suguru was his name. Good to know.

“Don’t say my name!” Suguru snapped. Too late, you knew it already. “The boss is not going to be happy, you know this, right?”

“Well I mean, I-” Gojo started, before you cut in.

“Can I at least know why you guys are gonna kill me before it happens?” You asked. You wanted to know what to avoid for your next life. Gojo had the audacity to scoff at you.

“Wow, I was literally talking and you interrupted me,” He scoffed, “Rude much?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll try to be more considerate of the man who drugged and kidnapped me next time I open my mouth! As if that wasn’t rude as hell!” You hissed.

“Get married later, we have other problems!” Suguru demanded, snapping in front of Satoru to get his attention. “The boss is going to be here any minute, and we have the wrong girl!”

“Why don’t we just kill her?” Gojo asked. And look at that, you were screaming again. They both screamed with you, Suguru screaming over you and adding a “CAN WE PLEASE ALL STOP SCREAMING?!” at the end.

And you did, because technically he had done nothing to wrong you, and you had no beef with him. Satoru shut up when you did. “Thank you!” He snapped, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples to try and fight off the migraine that was forming. “No, Gojo, we can’t just kill her! She’s an innocent, it goes against the code. You and I both know The Boss would have you castrated if you break the code.” Suguru reminded the man next to him. Oh, that was good news.

“So, I’m not gonna die?” You asked.

“You’re not gonna die.” “Nothing is off the table yet.” The men spoke in unison, glaring at each other as they finished their sentences.

“Sooooooo, you’re gonna let me go?!” You asked, beaming with a forced excitement, hoping it would rub off on them and they’d untie you then and there.

“It’s not that easy.” Suguru sighed, “If we let you go now, you’d definitely go to the cops, and you know at least his full name.” He said, glaring at Satoru once again.

“What if I promise not to go to the cops?” You asked.

“You and I both know that won’t work.” He looked almost sympathetic to your plight.

“What if I pinky swear not to go?” You asked. His sympathy vanished.

“In another life, you two are perfect for each other.” He scoffed to Gojo. Mere seconds after he said that, the door behind you opened again. Both men turned their full attention to the footsteps approaching, both looking terrified- though Gojo more than Suguru. You tried to look behind you, but alas, you were not an owl and could not turn your head 360 degrees around.

“What did you two idiots fuck up now?” A low, gravely voice asked behind you.

“What?!” Gojo tried to look offended, “Boss, I’m hurt! Why would you assume we fucked up?” he pouted. Suguru just dropped his head into his hands.

“Because it’s you Satoru, and when I came in here, you both looked at me like I was the cops and you had a corpse.” The voice scoffed, “And that never bodes well. Is that the girl?”

“So, you see, about that-” Suguru started, only to be cut off by a new man shoving his face in yours. The club of people that won the genetic lottery grew, and you hated to admit he was the sexiest member yet. Sharp features made more pronounced by a faceful of tattoos that absolutely shouldn't have been as attractive as they were. Hard eyes seemed to glow an unnatural red in the dim light of this garage(?) and his fluffy pink hair seemed both horrifically misplaced on his head, and perfectly matched all at the same time. Suddenly, you weren’t worried about your future. You were wondering what choices you had to make to sit on that perfectly sculpted face.

WAIT FOCUS Y/N, YOU’VE BEEN KIDNAPPED! You flinched away from him, tensing up because well…that’s what people do in these situations, right? You saw a tic form in his perfect jaw, and he stood up. You got a good look at what he was wearing. Fitted slacks with a dress shirt, a well tailored vest on top making him ooze with expense. The others were dressed nice too, but he somehow managed to outshine them all. Maybe its because his sleeves were rolled up, showing off his tattooed wrists and gorgeous forearms. God truly did have favorites.

“You.” He demanded more than asked, turning to Gojo and pointing at him.

“Yes Sukuna?” Gojo asked, and Suguru couldn’t hold back the groan that ripped from his throat.

“Stop using names you fucking idiot.” Suguru hissed. So his name was Sukuna.

“Gojo come here.” Sukuna said again, instantly shutting up both men. Gojos eyes grew even wider with fear.

“I, um…I’d rather not boss, I-...You’re gonna hurt me.” Gojo gulped.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” Sukuna assured him, and for a second he sounded so sincere and comforting, even you believed him.

“D-...Do you promise?” Gojo asked, trepidation still flooding his voice.

“I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.” Sukuna said again. Slowly, like a wild animal learning to trust, Satrou crept over to his boss. It was then you noticed Sukuna’s rings. You noticed them, because the moment Satoru was in bitch slapping range, he got bitch slapped with the ring hand, so hard that if Suguru hadn’t been there to catch him, he would have hit the floor.

“You said you weren’t gonna hurt me!” Gojo yelped. Suguru shook his head, unable to believe his friend fell for that.

“I lied!” The pink haired man snapped, “How’s it feel to be lied to Satoru?! Do you like it?! I know I sure fucking don’t.” He hissed as he slapped him again, “You said you had Toji’s wife! That’s not Toji’s fucking wife you imbecile!”

“Ha, take that asshat, that’s what you get!” You laughed, taking maybe a little bit too much joy in Satoru’s pain. And suddenly, all three men were staring at you. You shrunk a bit at the realization. “My bad, I shouldn’t have spoke,” You muttered, “I’ll let y'all get back to it.”

Sukuna took a long deep breath to try and reregulate himself before turning back to you. “Hi.” He said, giving a smile that you think was meant to be welcoming, but his naturally sharp canines just made it menacing. “Who are you?” He asked.

“I don’t know if it’s safe to tell you my name…” You muttered softly.

“You’re already tied up under my house babe, little late to be shy now.” He pointed out. Fair enough.

“Y/n Y/l/n.” You said. He nodded and gave a small wave.

"Hi Y/n. So what all do you kn-"

"Wait, what's your name?" You asked, cutting off a clearly powerful man. “Is Sukuna like, a title, or?” He stopped mid sentence and blinked at you, bringing his hands together in a death grip so he didn’t punch the disrespect out of your mouth.

“Sorry, you threw me off. I’m not used to being interrupted.” He said through gritted teeth.

“That’s a common problem for her!” Gojo accused from Suguru’s arms, pointing for emphasis. This quickly got him dropped. Sukuna glared at him.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop talking.” He threatened Gojo before turning back to you. “My name’s not important right now. What is important is finding out just how much you know. So start talking doll.” He said, going into his back pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes.

“So, before I answer, am I more likely or less likely to go home based on how much I know?” You asked, “Cause I’d like to go home in one piece.” The pink haired man laughed at your words as he lit his smoke. Well, laughed is a strong word. More like he aggressively blew air out of his nose, like when you see a funny meme.

“That’s cute Dollface,” He muttered, blowing the smoke out of his lungs, “Answer my question.”

“You answer mine first.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Come on dude, I only want you to answer one question-”

“You only want one question answered?” It did suck to be interrupted, “Fine, I’m Sukuna. Now what do you know about us?” You were confused at first, until you realized he was answering one question you asked. Just not the question you wanted answered. Well shit.

“I know his name is Satoru Gojo, his is Suguru, you’re Sukuna, and you guys are looking for some guy named Toji’s wife. Oh, and Gojo takes dick pics with a ring light.” Sukuna closed his eyes and scrunched his eyebrows at that last part, riding out the cringe wave.

“Dude, you don’t really do that, do you?” Suguru whispered to the man next to him.

“Good lighting makes the picture Suguru.” Gojo whispered back.

“We didn’t need to know that.” Sukuna said, opening his eyes again.

“You asked what I knew.” You said, shrugging as best as you could considering you were tied up.

“What are we going to do Boss?” Suguru asked, getting the team back on track. Sukuna took a long drag off his cigarette, trying to find an answer to that question. You were innocent, nowhere near the syndicates radar. You were a victim of them, it wasn’t fair to kill you for the crime of matching with a loser on tinder. It also went against what they stood for. At the same time though, they couldn’t just let you leave. You knew all of their names, for Satoru you knew his full name. Not only that, there was the risk of you letting it slip they were looking for Toji’s wife. Though, Toji probably knew that, all things considered. She did have a hit called out on Nanami after all, he’d be stupid not to assume they were looking for her. Fuck.

“Bring her upstairs.” Sukuna finally said, rubbing his temple with his free hand. He wondered why he kept Gojo on the payroll. “She’s our guest until further notice.” Suguru and Satoru shared a knowing glance before going and untying you.

“So you’re letting me go?!” You asked hopefully.

“Not quite,” Sukuna informed you, “Until we can find a more…permanent situation for you, you’re now the property of The Syndicate. Make yourself at home Doll.” He said as he put his cigarette back in his mouth.

“Hold on, what?!” You asked, struggling against Gojo and Suguru as they tried to drag you upstairs, “Wait, property?! Wait, hold on!” You yelped. Suguru rolled his eyes, deciding it was easier to just throw you over his shoulder at this point. “Hey! Put me down!”

“I don’t understand why you’re bitching, I thought you didn’t want to die?” He asked. And suddenly, this was all put into perspective for you. You either play nice, or you take a prolonged dirt nap. Shit. Not great options. You decided death wasn’t what you wanted, they did imply this was only temporary after all. You sighed and accepted your fate, going limp on Suguru’s shoulder.

The sudden bright lights of the house blinded you after so long in the dim basement. You were happy when Suguru finally put you down, less so when you heard a giant dog barking, and claws scraping on hardwood. You turned around in enough time to see an absolutely massive Rottweiler running at you full speed, teeth bared. You yelped, going to try and hide behind Suguru or hell even Gojo, only to find they had already backed way the hell up; giving the beast room to turn you into dog food. You closed your eyes and tensed your body as you braced for impact.

The impact never came. When you opened your eyes, all you found was a dopey smile sitting politely in front of you, panting while waiting for pets. “Aww,” You smiled, reaching down to give him some ear scratches. His already wagging tail kicked it into high gear as you did, melting your heart. “You’re just a big baby, aren’t you?” You cooed in your baby voice.

Sukuna came up from the stairs then, rolling his eyes at the scene. “Wow Brutus, good job buddy, you’re so good at being a guard dog. No ones gonna break in here, lest they get drooled on.” He scoffed.

“To be fair, Brutus’ slobber is a genuinely terrifying thing.” Suguru pointed out.

“It gets everywhere.” Gojo confirmed.

“I think you guys are just cowards.” You shrugged, petting the good boy on they head.

“They are.” Sukuna confirmed, also giving Brutus a solid pat for good measure. He turned to you then. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

“My room?” You questioned.

“That’s what I said,” His voice had an edge to it, like he was losing his patience with every second that passed. He turned to Gojo and Suguru. “Gojo, you know where she lives right?”

“Yea, I do.” He nodded. You did not like what that implied, considering you hadn’t given him your address. But, you were already kidnapped, so, maybe it was a little late to worry.

“Good. Take Geto and go grab her essentials. Clothes, toothbrush-”

“Oh, my switch!” You added. Sukuna glared at you from the corners of his eyes. “What?” You asked, “Someone’s gotta take care of my animal crossing island!” Sukuna closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Her switch, I fucking guess, and bring it back here.” He said, “Don’t fuck it up.” He wasn’t sure how they would fuck it up to be fair, but they had surprised him before.

“Got it Boss!” Satoru said, saluting Sukuna before grabbing Suguru and heading for the door.

“Oh, and Gojo?” Sukuna called right before they reached the door. Gojo froze.

“Yea Boss?”

“We’re not done here. See me when you get back.” His voice was dark. Nothing he said was threatening, but if that was true then why were the hairs on the back of your neck standing up? And why did Gojo physically cringe, as if future him was giving him a taste of pain yet to come?

“Understood Boss.” He said, leaving with Suguru. And with that, you were alone with a mob boss. Sukuna turned to you, blatantly eyeing you up. You suddenly felt shy under his gaze.

“Come on, your room is upstairs.” He said, moving past you to an opulent staircase on the opposite wall of the living room. You followed him, not really sure what else to do.

“You know, you’re surprisingly calm about all of this.” Sukuna said as the two of you climbed the stairs, “Not gonna lie, I kinda expected you to like…argue with me about all of this.”

“Do you want me to argue with you?” You asked.

“No, not really. I’m just curious about why you’re not.” He explained.

“Rent’s expensive,” You shrugged, “I was like, a week away from eviction.” You admitted, looking down to try and hide your shame. It wasn’t like you had done anything wrong either. You had done everything right, followed all the money tips you could, given up iced coffee. Turns out, rent is substantially more expensive than iced coffee and when your job doesn't pay a living wage, well- living is hard. “Honestly, I kinda need a place to crash.”

“Oh, I see. Well, lucky you then.” He chuckled softly as you reached the top of the staircase. You didn’t know if you’d call yourself lucky, but, you’d take what you could get. “Here, this one’s yours.” Sukuna said, opening a door to the right. You walked into an extravagant red room, a giant bed covered in black silk with a tall canopy sat as the center piece with a black wardrobe off to the side.

“Is this like, your sex room?” You asked, your mouth moving faster than your brain. He gave a short snappy ‘HA!’ at your joke, shaking his head softly.

“Yeah, you wish.” He accused, and yeah he was right. You kinda did wish. “This is just the guest room.”

“So…Do I live with you now?” You asked as you moved to sit on the bed. A reasonable question. Sukuna leaned against the doorway, moving his head back and fourth in the universal motion of ‘I have no fucking idea, give me a sec while I think of what to say.’

“Eh, “live” is a strong word.” He finally said with a shrug. “You’re just here until we can come up with a better solution.” He explained. You nodded, accepting that you weren’t going to get a straight answer- because he didn’t have one to give.

“Well that’s exciting.” You mumbled, trying to rub the tired out of your eyes. It had been a long day.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll figure out what to do with you in a few days.” He tried to comfort you, before finally leaving you alone.

🚬🚬🚬

A few days had quickly turned into a few weeks. You had acclimated to your new life well, learning when to ask questions and when not to. Brutus had become your best friend, and Sukuna your odd roommate who left at weird times in the night. You were more comfortable with your situation than you were willing to admit. Turns out, you weren’t above all those other Y N girlies that immediately got stockholm syndrome after a day of kidnapping.

Still, that didn’t mean you felt particularly safe. The moment you started to, something happened. The very next time you saw Gojo after he left to grab your things, his arm was in a cast. You would hear screaming- or worse begging- from the basement. An already hushed conversation would fall completely silent as you came down the stairs. There was always something to remind you that you were not here of your own free will.

“Ummm…Shota?” You asked from your spot on the couch, watching him put on his jacket.

“Nope.”

“Hmmm…Akira?” Your relationship with Sukuna was an odd one. The two of you had grown comfortable with each others presence, enough that you would find yourself casually hanging out with him, or in this case, pestering him as you tried to guess his first name.

“Wrong again.” He said, checking the jacket to make sure his cigarettes were in one of the pockets. They weren’t.

“Yuji?”

“Gross no- Do I look like a Yuji to you?” That one seemed to genuinely offend him a bit. You had to be getting close.

“Yagi?”

“Y/n, why does it matter to you so much that you know my first name?” He asked, grabbing his smokes from the end table next to the couch. He made eye contact with you when he did it, and you felt your stomach flutter. That was another thing that was quickly developing. It seemed like every day it took less and less from him to make you flustered.

“Cause you know mine!” You said, pressing your thighs together to push back your less than holy thoughts. “It only seems fair that I should know yours too.”

“I’m not interested in what’s fair Doll, you should know that.” He said, grabbing his keys off the hook by the door. You hated when he called you Doll, mostly because of how much you loved it when he called you Doll. It always stirred something in you that you tried to suppress, something you knew would make an already not ideal situation worse. Admitting you had feelings for Sukuna felt akin to a death sentence right now, especially considering the very real likelihood that they were one sided.

“If you weren’t interested in what’s fair, you would have killed me by now!” You pointed out.

“Don’t forget to feed Brutus, I’ll be home late.” He completely ignored your very valid point. You huffed as you watched him walk out of the door. Bastard. Asshole. Tyrant, even! In the space between where your true feelings were-and what you were willing to admit to feeling- resentment grew. He had ripped you from the life you had built before, and cultivated this caricature of intimacy that he fully expected you to participate in; all while refusing to give you information as basic as his first name. It wasn’t just unfair, at times it felt cruel.

A soft whine from the nearby kitchen brought you back to reality. You smiled softly at the gentle giant waiting for dinner. “You hungry buddy?” You asked, laughing at his happy woof as you got up to fill his bowl.

You went about your nightly routine as you normally did, minus dinner with Sukuna, ending the night curled up on the couch in your pajamas with Brutus, reading one of the many books that littered the mansion. You couldn’t focus on the words though, your mind finding the ticking of the clock much more interesting. Something was off. You looked up to see that it was already 5 AM. Sukuna was prone to coming home late, but never this late. Something was wrong.

You weren’t sure what to do here. You were captive here, it’s not like you had access to a phone. Even if you did, who would you call? You knew Nanami was his most reliable comrade, but if Sukuna was in trouble there was a 70% chance Nanami was too. Suguru? Maybe, but- you shook your head as you realized none of this mattered when you had zero way of contacting any of these men. You could try and go look for him yourself, but you knew the door was locked. It needed a code to be opened, a code you didn’t have. Brutus whined from beside you, feeding off your nervous energy. Your fingers felt numb as you mindlessly chewed your nails, failing to think of anything other than where Sukuna was at that moment.

“Where are you Suka-” It was like you summoned him, before you could even finish your sentence the door exploded open and he came tumbling inside. You thought having him come home would be a relief, but the blood covering his side washed away any possible relief that could have come from his return.

“Motherfucker-” Was all he could get out before collapsing against the wall next to the door.

“Sukuna!” You yelled, rushing to his side, “Sukuna, holy shit, what happened?!” You demanded, wrapping his arm around your shoulders while you tried to lead him to the couch. You thought it would have been harder, moving a wall of muscle that much bigger than you any amount. But it turns out, adrenaline really is one hell of a drug!

“I got shot, what’s it look like happened?!” He snapped, hissing through his teeth as you placed him on the couch. Suddenly, you understood why everything in this house was red. He almost disappeared into the scarlet couch, the red consuming him, threatening to take him away. “Brutus! First Aid!” He yelled, before groaning in pain. Somewhere along the way, he lost his jacket, making it a lot easier for you to rip off his bloodied dress shirt.

Oh man, that was bad. You weren’t even queasy around blood, but there was a lot here. Before you could get too much in your head and lose your dinner, you felt a fuzzy head nudge into your leg. You looked down to see Brutus looking up at you, first aid kit hanging from his mouth. He was officially the smartest dumb dog you had ever met.

“Oh, Good boy Brutus!” You praised, scratching the sides of his face and his floppy ears.

“Y/n, losing blood kinda fast over here!” Sukuna reminded, quickly snapping you back into the severity of the moment.

“Right, sorry!” You yelped, opening the kit. Of course Sukuna wouldn’t have a normal first aid kit. This was one of the most extensive kits you’d seen. You pulled the latex gloves over your hands before straddling his lap, trying to get a better look at him. Three bullet wounds, one logged into his shoulder, one to his side under his rib cage, and one that just grazed his side. You could still see the bullet in the first two.

“Oh jesus..” You muttered, grabbing the long glorified tweezers from the kit, “So, uh, this is gonna hurt.” You said, mouth moving without your mind.

“Oh, that so?!” He snapped, “I thought it was gonna feel like fucking butterfly kisses!” Oh man, he was starting to look pale.

“Okay, well now I’m not sorry for this.” You muttered, digging the tweezers into his shoulder to get the bullet. He hissed sharply through his teeth, hands finding your hips and grabbing you hard enough to bruise. This was not the scenario you thought of when you imagined Sukuna bruising your hips, but life is often funny that way.

“Okay, that’s one out.” You said as you extracted the metal. He let out a shallow breath, trying hard to regulate his breathing.

“Fuck Y/n..” He whined, and you felt your chest burn. You wondered if that’s what he would sound like on to-NOPE not the time to think like that!

“I’m going to get the second one now, okay?” You asked. He nodded, his body tensing against his will in anticipation. This one was deeper. You watched his abs flex as he moaned in pain, biting his lip to concentrate on anything other than the searing pain in his abdomen. This would be a lot easier if he could stop being hot for like, five seconds. “I’m sorry.” You muttered softly, wishing there was anything you could do to help with the pain.

“Don’t- Don’t.” You could tell he wanted to say more, but he just couldn’t. You finally pulled the final bullet out. You pulled the bottle of iodine out of the kit, assuming it was for disinfecting- something he was going to desperately need. You wanted to suggest a hospital, but you knew better. A hospital meant cops, and he couldn’t have that. Especially not right now. So you poured a generous amount of the iodine on his wounds, only for him to scream.

“AAH, WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!” He yelped as a new wave of pain scorched it’s way through his body.

“I THOUGHT IT WAS A DISINFECTANT!” You yelled in panic, using a piece of gauze to try and wipe it up.

“YEAH, FOR BURNS.”

“THEN WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO USE?!”

“WATER!!” Oh yeah, that checked. The bottle of distilled water in the kit made a lot more sense now. You opened it, using that to clean his wounds instead, and using it to try and wash away some of the dried blood in the process.

“Shit, I’m sorry! I’m not a nurse, okay!?” You tried to defend yourself in a panic. Then it dawned on you the next step in the process. “I wasn’t very good at home ec either...” You confessed.

“What does that have to do with- Oh god.” He threw his head back on the couch as he realized stitches were next. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before pulling his head back up, his eyes meeting yours almost instantly. It was like he was searching your very soul for something, though you had no idea what he was trying to find. You wanted to shrink away, but you found yourself trapped by his gaze.

“I trust you Y/n. Don’t fuck me up.” He finally said. You wondered how he could be so confident in anything while bleeding out on a couch, but you guessed that was a question for some other time. You nodded, grabbing the surgical needle and thread. It couldn’t be that hard, right? In one side and out the other. You had this.

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as you made the first sitch, digging his nails into your hips and subconsciously pulling you closer. He flinched at the second stitch, bucking his hips into yours in the process.

“Hold still!” You chastised him. You really wished all of this was happening under different circumstances. You realized this was probably the closest you had ever been to him. Focus Y/n, focus! You finished his shoulder, before moving on to the one in his side, and finishing with the gash. You were shocked how good your stitches were when you weren’t over thinking it. Not perfect by any means, but far better than you thought.

“Okay, the worst is over.” You said, pushing his damp hair out of his face gently. He looked at you through his eyelashes, an expression you had no hope of reading on his face. You cleared your throat before grabbing the gauze to bandage him up. He was quiet while you worked. You had almost finished with the bandages when he spoke again.

“Ryomen.” He finally said.

“What?” You asked, confusion leaking into your voice as you finished wrapping up the last wound. You looked at him.

“My name’s Ryomen.” You weren’t sure what you expected him to say after all of this, but it definitely wasn’t that. You stared at him, trying to figure out how to process any of what the fuck just happened. Was this your life now? Was this your forever? He brought a shaky hand to the side of your face, brushing away a tear you didn’t even know was there.

“Why are you cryin’ Doll?” He asked softly. His eyes didn’t have the edge you were so used to in them. Be it from the blood loss or him being grateful for your subpar nursing, all of his edges had been rounded down to soft bumps.

“I thought I was going to lose you..” You whimpered softly.

“Oh, Y/n,” He cooed softly, “I’m not going anywhere.” He promised, pressing his forehead to yours. “Don’t cry over me.” He lazily rubbed your cheek with his thumb, trying to comfort you despite the fact he was the one that had just got shot, multiple times. You were sure the blood loss was getting to his head, this was far too intimate. Far too sweet. The stress of the situation hit you all at once, the adrenaline leaving your body as distress took it’s place.

You took a jagged breath in, realizing you were crying as you did so. He quietly pulled you into a hug, pressing you into his chest. The steady beat of his heart admittedly brought you some comfort, reminding you that he was alive and well-ish. You weren’t sure when you fell asleep. When you woke up in your room the next morning, you were convinced it was all a bad dream. Surely he wouldn’t have been able to lug your sleeping body to your room after all of that, right?

The faint blood stains on the couch told a different story.

🚬🚬🚬

If you thought your relationship with Ryomen was weird before, it was really weird now. Before, you were positive you had a one sided crush. Something brought on by proximity and not much else, and a feeling he most definitely did not share. Now though? Now you were sure there was something else there, and that he felt it too. It showed itself in small ways. In the way he brushed against you when you were cooking together, in the way Suguru’s job had gotten significantly harder when Ryomen had noticed how close the two of you had gotten, and in the way he had gotten more protective of you than he had ever been before.

“Oh Suge Knight totally had 2pac killed.” Suguru said with a shrug.

“No way, that doesn’t make sense!” You argued, “Why would he call a hit on his best selling artist?”

“To take control of his catalog, duh,” He said this as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “More money to be made if you don’t have an artist to pay.”

“Yeah, except now there’s no artist to make more music and therefore more money!” you pointed out, “Besides, why would he have a car he’s in get shot up?”

“So people ask that exact question!” Suguru argued, waving his hands for emphasis.

“Do you two have nothing better to talk about than decades old conspiracy theories?” Ryomen asked as he entered the kitchen, walking up to the bar where you sat with Suguru. He always seemed annoyed when the two of you hung out together. The toxic part of your brain liked it. Satoru wasn’t far behind him, his wrist still in a brace from a months old injury. You felt a little bad when you saw it these days. It must have been a nasty shatter.

“I’d argue there’s no better topic of conversation than decades old murder conspiracies.” Satoru said, taking a seat next to Suguru.

“I’d argue you’re the last person I’d consider an authority on topics of conversation.” Nanami said, suddenly alerting you to his presence. That man was like a ghost, you only saw him when he wanted you to. He moved over to the fridge, pulling out a beer and using the counter to open it. A move that would get Satoru or Suguru a one way ticket to the afterlife, completely ignored by Ryomen because Nanami was useful.

“Y/n, I need you to go to your room.” Ryomen said, checking his watch. “Sooner rather than later.”

“What, why?” You asked, not a fan of being kicked out of the kitchen you now considered to be yours.

“Because I told you to. Don’t come out until I come get you.” His tone left no room for argument or conversation. You bit your tongue, knowing better than to undermine him in front of his men, especially his lieutenants.

“Whatever.” You groaned as you left, going and locking yourself in your room. As much as it annoyed you, this was fairly common at this point. Whenever the boys had “Official Business” you’d be banished to your bedroom until they deemed it safe for you to be let free. A very clear reminder that you were an outsider here. You weren’t in your room long before there was a knock on your door.

“Already?!” You asked.

“No.” Nanami said, “I’m here to deliver Brutus.” Confused, you went and opened the door. Sure enough, Brutus came barreling into the room as the door opened, going and jumping onto your bed. “Boss wants him to be with you.” Nanami said, as if that was going to answer your puzzled look.

“Why? What’s going on?” You asked in a hushed tone. Nanami's eyes darted over to the staircase, making sure no one was coming up them.

“A representative of Naoya Zenin is going to be here tonight.” Zenin. You heard that name enough before to know he was one of Ryomen’s rivals, someone previously teamed up with Toji.

“What? Why is he sending someone here?”

“Fushiguru has been shorting him and his team when it comes to their cut of narcotics sales. Considering they’re the ones making all the drugs Toji sells, he’s not happy about it. So he’s looking to start a partnership with us instead.” You were thankful for Nanami. Everyone else here treated you like a delicate flower: like telling you what was going on would make you wilt. Nanami had always kept it straight with you, telling you the facts as they were. To him, you were just as involved as they all were, even if that was only due to your proximity to it all.

“And he’s not showing up himself?” You asked, remembering that Nanami had said a representative of his was coming. He shrugged.

“What can I say? The man’s a coward.” There was a knock on the door after he said that, signaling to him that he needed to get back downstairs. “Stay safe Y/n.” He said, turning to join the others.

“You too.” You responded, but you were pretty sure he didn’t hear it. You sighed as you closed your door, joining the overgrown puppy on your bed. You decided to hop on your switch, needing some way to kill the time. You weren’t sure how long you spent trying to get Moose off your island before you registered that Brutus was whining by your door.

“What’s wrong big guy?” You asked, putting your switch down. He whined some more, shifting uncomfortably in front of the door. “Oh no, you have to potty, don’t you?” You could have sworn that dog nodded at you. Really?! They didn’t let him out first?! You wondered what to do. You knew disobeying Ryomen wasn’t acceptable, but you couldn’t just let your baby suffer! Another whimper from Brutus made the decision for you. Ryomen would understand.

You opened your door and walked Brutus down the stairs, hoping you could avoid wherever the meeting was happening. You should have known that was delusional, because the moment you walked into the kitchen, you found them all holding their meeting around the bar. Ryomen pinched the bridge of his nose the moment he saw you. Ah fuck.

“Well hello there Gorgeous, who are you?” A man you had never seen before asked. He made your stomach turn. He had his long blue hair parted into three pony tails, and long surgical scars marred his face. That wasn’t what made him so revolting though. It was his smile. It didn’t feel right. Like a monster recreating it’s prey’s mannerisms, a wolf in poorly fitted sheep’s clothing. You wished you stayed in your room.

“It doesn’t matter who she is, you’re not here to talk to her.” Ryomen said, allowing no room for conversation. You followed his lead, going and opening the back door for Brutus without acknowledging the mimic in your home.

“Oh, don’t be rude Sukuna. Is she your wife?” It asked.

“Doesn’t matter, we’re not here to talk about my personal life.”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” He turned to you, and you wished Brutus would hurry up. “I’m Mahito sweetie. And you are?”

“I think the Boss made it clear, we should get back on topic.” Nanami said, adjusting to put his hand in his suit jacket. The Mahito creature got the hint, raising his hands in his defense.

“Okay, okay, okay. Pardon me for trying to be polite at a business meeting, I won’t do it again.”

“Good.” Ryomen said, lighting a smoke and watching closely as Brutus ran in and took his place by your side. He saw the way Brutus held back a growl. That wasn’t a good sign. “You said Zenin wanted fifty percent? That’s not going to work for us.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“Selling is signif-” That was all you heard as you rushed back up stairs. Once in your room, you tried to regulate your heartbeat, to clam your jittering bones. You felt like you had just encountered some old primal evil. Something so off your ancestors were warning you to be weary of it from beyond the grave. You sat next to Brutus on your bed, hiding your face in his fur to try and calm down.

It worked for a while, until you heard him growl. You looked up to see the monster in your room. You yelped softly, instinctively backing away. You wished you hadn’t forgotten to close your door.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” He said, showing that “smile” again. “I just thought it was a shame we didn’t get to properly meet back there.” Your blood felt slimy in your veins as you realized you were going to have to play nice with this guy. His business was important to Ryomen, or else he wouldn’t be in the house.

“Oh, yea I guess.” You muttered softly, petting Brutus to try and calm him.

“What’s your name sweetheart?” He asked, stepping even further into your room and closing the door behind him. Your joints suddenly felt weak with static, every fiber of your animal brain telling you you were dealing with a predator.

“Y/n.” You responded, refusing to make eye contact with his mis-matched eyes.

“That’s a pretty name Y/n. You Ryomen’s girl, or his pet?” You didn’t like anything coming out of his mouth.

“I’m um, his roommate.” You guess, and instantly realized you guessed wrong. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs with the others?”

“Oh, they’ll be fine without me for a few minutes.” He said, and you realized he was getting closer. You stood up, only to realize he was in between you and the door.

“Hey, uh, I really think you should go back down, they’re probably looking for-”

“I don’t care.” He scoffed, closing the distance and grabbing you. He tried to force you on the bed, but I guess that dumb ass missed the giant fuck you dog that was in that room for the sole purpose of protecting you. He didn’t get past putting his hands on your shoulders before Brutus’s teeth were in his leg, ripping muscle from bone. The scream that left Mahito was visceral, the kind that haunts people at night.

“RYOMEN!!” You yelled, pressing yourself against the wall while Brutus did his thing, jerking his head, pulling the man away from you as another horrific scream left him.

“I fucking knew it!” Ryomen snapped, ripping your attention away from the bloody scene in front of you and to the four men spilling into your room, Ryomen leading the pack.

“CALL OFF YOUR DOG!” The rag doll begged.

“Brutus, down!” Ryomen ordered. Without hesitation the Rott had let go, and had placed himself between you and your attacker in case he needed to act again.

“Oh thank-” Mahito didn’t get to finish that sentence.

“He’s mine.” Ryomen growled, grabbing him by his scalp. “You think you can come into my house and attack my girl and get away with it?!” He snapped, taking the lit cigarette from his mouth and putting it out in Mahitos’ right eye. You’re not sure what was going to stick with you more, the smell- or the sound that came out of the monster. Ryomen threw the screaming, bloodied man, to the floor behind him. “Take him to the basement, I’ll be there soon.” He said. Without hesitation all three men acted, grabbing the begging Mahito and dragging him down the stairs.

Ryomen walked over to you, gently taking your head in his hands. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, Brutus protected me.” You hated the quiver in your voice as you said that. Ryomen looked down at the dopey dog, smiling with blood on his muzzle. He gave a small affectionate smile as he pet the dog.

“Good boy.” He praised before turning back to you. “I’m going to go take care of the trash in the basement, then I’ll be back, okay?”

“I’m so sor-”

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. He did. I’ll be back.” He assured you, gently patting your cheek before leaving the room you weren’t sure you felt safe in anymore. You weren’t sure how long he was gone for. At least long enough for you to clean up Brutus, and to try and clean up all the gore. At least your carpet was dark gray. You wondered how many other stains it hid, and of what variety.

You weren’t expecting how relieved you were when you finally heard a knock, opening the door to reveal a freshly showered Ryomen. You wondered what he looked like before washing the blood away, but the only image your mind conjured was him bleeding out on the couch. So you stopped wondering.

“Pack a bag, you’re leaving.” He explained. His tone was unreadable, and all it did was piss you off.

“What? What do you mean I’m leaving?!” You demanded.

“I mean wh-”

“No Ryomen, I want an actual fucking explanation.” You saw his jaw clench, as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You gotta get better about that interrupting bullshit.” He growled. “Zenin is definitely going to send someone to look for his missing boy. And when he does, he’s not going to find you here. Gojo already reserved you a hotel suite for a week, it’s temporary.” He explained as he walked away. “I’ll be waiting for you in the living room.”

You groaned as you threw together a bag. You understood his reasoning, but you were getting real sick of feeling like nothing in your life was under your control. Like you were at the mercy of a crazed mob boss. Probably because you were. You were starting to wonder if all of this was really worth not having to pay rent.

Ultimately you decided it was. Really, it was no different from existing under capitalism, and at least in this situation you could sometimes reason with your captor. You came downstairs with your bag, took at least ten minuets to say goodbye to Brutus- promising him you’d be back and that he was the best boy- and finally loaded yourself into Ryomen’s too-expensive-for-you-to-be-in car. The drive was silent, tense almost. He chain smoked out of the window, not even bothering to look at you.

“Um, are you mad at me?” You finally had to ask.

“No.” Well that didn’t sound like he wasn’t mad at you.

“You sound mad.” You pointed out.

“Good observation.” He scoffed, throwing his dead cigarette butt out the window, and immediately going to light another.

“That’s probably not good for your lungs ya know.” His glare could have frozen the sun. “I’m just sayin’!”

“I promise you, I’d be lucky if lung cancer is what kills me.” He “assured” you.

“You promise you’re not mad at me?”

“Y/n.” He growled, “I said I’m not mad at you, didn’t I? Why can’t you just believe me?”

“Cause you sound like, really really ma-”

“That’s because I’m mad at myself, not you!” He snapped, before catching himself with a growl, pinching the bridge of his nose for a second. He took a long drag off his smoke and ashed it out the window, holding the smoke in his lungs until the burn threatened to consume him. “Just. Drop it.” He finally said as the two of you pulled into a hotel parking lot. It was honestly nicer than you were expecting! “We’re here.” He informed you, grabbing your bag as the two of you left the car.

It was clear Sukuna was known here, considering he didn’t technically check in. He was just given a key as he passed the front desk, and told a room number. You hoped it wasn’t that easy for everyone. He ushered you to the elevator before giving you the spare key he was given. “Room 237.” He said.

“Wait, like The Shining?!” you gasped, looking at him with wide eyes.

“I-I guess?” He very clearly wasn’t expecting that reaction to informing you of your room number. “Sorry, I’m thrown, are you excited or?-”

“I just think it’s neat.” You beamed.

“...Okay.” Sukuna sighed, deciding he had more important things to worry about at the moment than if you liked your room number or not. Once inside the room, he immediately started checking for bugs, both the organic and inorganic kind. An old habit that he saw no need to kill. While he did that, you looked around the suite, familiarizing yourself with the layout.

“Hey, Ryomen? I only see one bed?” You questioned, not finding another place for him to sleep.

“Yeah? Is that a problem?” He asked, joining you in the bedroom.

“Well where are you going to sleep?” You inquired. He was confused again.

“In my bed? At my house?” Oh hell no he wasn’t!

“What?! No way, you can’t leave me!” You protested, getting real sick of his shit.

“I assure you, I can do whatever I want,” He scoffed, “Someone needs to watch the house.”

“Fuck that, have Nanami do it! What if they find me here?!” You didn’t have Brutus, and you weren’t confident in your ability to hold your own in a fight with experienced criminals.

“No one is going to come for you here Y/n-” He tried to reason, but you were having none of it.

“Are you sure?!” You demanded, “Can you promise me that?! Can you look me in the eye and swear to me that we weren’t followed? That no one’s going to show up here looking for you and hurt me instead? That no one wants revenge for that ragdolls life?! Can you be sure?!” He was quiet. Truth be told, he couldn’t. And he had already fucked up and let you get hurt once, he wasn’t going to do it again. He let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh.

“Fine, fine. I’ll call Nanami and have him-”

��I don’t want Nanami here, I want you.” You insisted. Your words hung heavy in the air, both of you trying to hear what was left unsaid in the silence. The tension was growing, begging for someone to say something, anything. Finally, Ryomen sighed again,

“Okay, I’ll stay. Let me go call Nanami so he knows to watch the house.” He said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and stepping out to call his lieutenant. He was gone for longer than you expected. You worried about what was being said, though you didn't know why you were so worried. You just felt anxious. Finally, he came back.

“Alright, everything is settled.” He let you know, “I’m going to sleep on the couch, just…get some sleep okay?” He said, gently cupping your cheek, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” He assured you. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and nodded.

“Okay, thank you.” You sighed, looking up at him. He was closer than you realized. He hadn’t let go of your cheek yet either. Your eyes connected, and for a split second, the whole world seemed to stop. He was close enough you could smell the coffee and cigarette scent that seemed to permanently cling to him. If you focused hard enough, you could feel the heat coming off of him. “Kiss me.” You mentally begged him, “Kiss me, just kiss me!”

“Sleep well Y/n.” He said, patting your face as he left the room. You almost screamed at him to get back here and finish what he started, but realized it probably wouldn’t do much. If he wanted to, he would have. He said it himself, he does whatever he wants. You settled for just screaming into the pillow as you flopped into the overly stuffed mattress instead. This shit sucked.

Everything felt hot, too hot. You felt like you were caught in an inferno, feeling his hips buck into yours. You felt his warm mouth trail kisses down your neck. You twisted your hands, feeling your wrists flex under his large hand. “You’re so good for me pretty girl.” He praised in your ear.

“Ryomen-” You gasped, saying his name like a prayer.

“Say it again Y/n.”

“Ryomen..”

“Again..”

“Ro-”

“Y/n!” You jumped out of your sleep, yelping softly as Sukuna’s voice jolted you out of the dream realm. You looked around, trying to reorient yourself. You still felt flustered from your dream, and now flustered from embarrassment.

“Ryomen?” You asked, looking at the man sitting on the side of your bed, him looking at you with concerned eyes in return. “What are you doing in here?”

“You called for me.” He informed you, and you wanted to melt away from the embarrassment. “I thought you we’re having a nightmare, so I woke you up,” He explained, “Are you okay?”

“A nightmare…yeah…” You took the excuse and ran, “Yeah, yeah I’m okay. I don’t even remember what happened in it honestly…” You lied. He sighed and rubbed his face, getting up to leave. “Wait!” You called, grabbing his hand before he could get too far. There goes your stupid body, moving faster than your brain again. “I-...I don’t want to be alone.” You explained. It was technically the truth.

He looked down at you, quiet for a second, then grumbled. “Whatever. Scoot over.” He muttered. You smiled, happy to make room for him. He slipped himself under the covers, getting comfortable surprisingly quickly for someone in a dress shirt and slacks. For a guy that was surrounded with luxury and creature comforts, he really didn’t seem to need any of them. It didn’t seem like he was very accustomed to them either. He laid on his back, and you couldn’t help but notice how comfortable his chest looked.

So you moved next to him, resting your head on his chest. He looked down at you, but didn’t push you away. Quite the opposite actually, he wrapped one of his arms around you, holding you close to his side. It woke up the butterflies in your stomach, sending them into overdrive.

“Thank you.” You whispered to him.

“For what?” He asked.

“Staying with me. Taking care of me.”

“...Di-..did you just thank me for kidnapping you?” He questioned, looking down at you as best he could and raising an eyebrow. You laughed a little at his reaction.

“I guess I did, yeah.” You giggled, trying to push yourself closer to him.

“You’re welcome?” You never failed to confuse and confound him. Maybe that’s why he liked you so much. You kept him on his toes. “You know most people aren’t okay with being kidnapped, right? It’s considered a bad thing.”

“I’m not most people.” You shrugged. “Like, yeah I see how on paper it’s bad but..I don’t know. It kinda came at the perfect time for me. I got to walk out of my shitty job, I didn’t have to deal with getting evicted, let’s not even get started on how honestly lonely I was..I don’t know. I guess it’s bad for most people, but it was a miracle for me. Is there a word for bad miracle?”

“Your stalkhom syndrome is showing.”

“I don’t think it’s that,” You chuckled, shifting to be able to look up at him, “Have you ever considered I just like being around you?”

“Why would you?” He muttered.

“Why wouldn't I?” You replied. There it was again. That warm feeling that seemed to envelop you wherever you were in Ryomen’s arms, coupled with the feeling that comes right before the lighting strikes. You used the dim moonlight fluttering in from your window to connect your eyes with his. You swore up and down his eyes glowed in low light, the unnatural red that should be so off putting only drawing you deeper into him.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered softly, and you felt your chest tighten. He had never said anything like that to you before. It made you feel almost giddy, your heart doing the screaming and squealing your throat wouldn’t currently allow. Before you could respond, his lips were finally on yours and it felt like fireworks were going off in every fiber of your being. You felt your blood rushing in your veins as you moved to tangle your fingers in his hair, months of tension finally snapping in a million electric sparks.

He bit your lip, using your soft gasp to deepen the kiss. He pulled you closer to him, if that was even possible, growling softly as you tugged at his hair. It was like the two of you truly couldn’t get enough of each other, trying to make up for months worth of lost time and build up with one impossibly impassioned kiss. He rolled the two of you over so you were under him, and moved to kiss your neck. You moaned softly as he did, feeling the bruises he was biting already starting to form. You loved the idea of it, of obvious evidence you really were his girl.

You felt your breathing get heavy as he ran his hands up your waist and under your shirt, feeling the soft skin waiting for him there. He pulled away long enough to pull your shirt over your head, leaving you in just your sleep shorts.

“Fuck.” He whispered when he finally saw you without your top on. He took the time to truly marvel you, the way you imagined a painter would look at his magnum opus. It filled you with a confidence unlike anything else, for someone so beautiful to look at you the way Adonis had looked at Aphrodite.

“You look so much better than I imagined.” he praised, finally finding his voice again.

“So you’ve imagined me topless?” You teased.

“I’ve imagined more than just you topless.” He smirked, hands roaming lower on your body. You felt your breath hitch in your chest as he hooked his thumbs under your shorts. You weren’t positive this wasn’t another dream, but either way, you planned to enjoy this. Though, he was wearing far too much clothes for that. Before he could take your bottoms off, you were sitting up, connecting your lips to his again as your fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. You always thought he looked stunning in them, but right now you despised the small buttons. He chuckled a bit, pulling away from you.

“Eager, huh?” he teased, “Here, I got it.” You felt almost embarrassed as he expertly got all the buttons undone and the shirt off in the time it took you to unhook three of them. But- in your defense- he took those shirts off everyday and this was your first time taking anything off him. You bit your lip as you took in his topless form. It looked so much better not covered in blood, you could better see the tattooed skin that laid there.

And the scars. There were a few etched into his skin, but you were most concerned with three. Your fingers went to touch one of the circular scars, feeling the puckered healed skin on his shoulder. You felt a pang of regret. If you had done better that night, would he have scarred? You didn’t have time to think before you felt his hand on yours, softly pressing your fingers into the healed wound.

“Like it?” He chuckled, “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Why?” You asked, trying not to think about him covered in blood again.

“It makes me think of you.” He said, pulling you into another heated kiss. You felt your body react to him, pressing yourself closer to him and wrapping your arms around his neck. You felt dizzy with want, your entire being buzzing with anticipation as he pressed you back into the mattress, kissing down your jaw, your neck, your torso, until he was where you wanted him the most. You bit your lip in anticipation, feeling him hook his thumbs into your bottoms, waiting for him.

“What do you want Doll?” He asked from in between your legs.

“You.” You whimpered softly.

“I’m right here,” He reminded you, “What do you want from me?” You whined as you bucked your hips at him. He grabbed them and pressed you into the mattress, making you groan louder.

“I don’t know!” You confessed.

“Babygirl, we haven’t even done anything, you can’t be fucked stupid just yet.” he tsked.

“I just want you to touch me...” You begged.

“I am touching you.”

“Ryo!” You whined, wriggling under him.

“Ryo?” He snorted, “That’s cute.” In all the times you had imagined yourself fucking Ryomen Sukuna, you had never imagined he’d be this fucking infuriating. You gave a stranged whine to let him know just how upset you were. “Sorry Doll, I don’t speak whine. You’re gonna have to use your big girl words.”

“Ryomen, please!” You begged, “I- I want..fuck, I want your mouth.” You finally decided, “I want to know what your mouth feels like.” Ryomen’s grin was dark as he finally pulled down your shorts and underwear in one fluid motion.

“Good girl.” he praised, and before you could properly react, he was running his tongue from your entrance to your clit, wrapping his lips around your bundle of nerves and giving it a sharp suck. Excitement exploded in your chest as your hands rushed to his hair, trying to find anything to ground yourself. He growled as you pulled him closer to you.

Every pass of his tongue sent another wave of euphoria coursing through your core, leaving you soft under him. You brain officially checked out for the night, rolling your hips against his face to chase your high. You moaned his name shamelessly, losing your ability to regulate your volume in the pleasure he was giving you. This volume regulation problem worsened as he pushed two fingers into your weeping cunt, curling up and successfully gracing the sweet spot inside you. Some part of your brain was sure the next room over knew Ryomen’s name now.

And it was driving him crazy. Ryomen couldn’t take his eyes off of you. The way your eyes screwed shut, the way the sweat cascaded down your body, the way his name sounded so fucking pretty falling off your lips. He spent a lot of time fucking his hand to the thought of fucking you with his mouth, among other things, and his imagination couldn’t come close to creating the magic of the real thing. He had to use his free hand to palm himself through his slacks, desperate for any sort of relief. The only thing he wanted more than to fuck you in that moment was to taste you as you came on his face. He needed it more than he needed to breathe.

“R-ryo, I- close..” You whined, your mind struggling to conjugate a proper sentence. That’s what he liked to hear. Your head was full of dopamine and ecstasy, your entire body buzzed with anticipation and need. You felt like you were barreling to the edge of the earth with no hope of stopping. You heard him moan as you pulled his hair again, pulling him closer as you rode his face straight to your climax, feeling the ecstasy explode in your veins. You felt like you were floating in a sea of pleasure, except the sea was in the middle of a tropical storm and every cutting wave that hit you left you weaker than the last. Your vision went white hot, and you were struggling to keep your breath.

“Fuck, fuck, Ryo! Ryomen! So good Ryo..” You chanted his name like a witch trying to evoke a long dead deity. And he couldn’t get enough of it, eating you out throughout your high as he licked up everything you had to give him and more. He didn’t let up until your legs were trembling around his head. He kissed bruises in your shaking thighs as he pulled away, wiping his mouth and looking at you with dark eyes. Something primal held behind pupils blown wide with lust. He wiped his mouth with a wicked grin.

“You taste so good Doll,” He praised, slipping his fingers out of your cunt and into your mouth. You started sucking without thinking, grabbing his hand to keep him there as you licked his fingers clean. “Glad you agree.” He chuckled darkly, feeling his dick twitch under his clothes. His entire body felt like it was on fire, and the only thing his mind could focus on was imagining how pretty you’d look trying to take his dick.

“How ya feeling Dollface?” He asked, leaning back as he undid the button on his pants.

“So good..” You muttered, your mind slowly finding it’s way back to your body in the sea of endorphins it was swimming in.

“Yeah?” He chuckled, pulling you under him as he lined himself up with your weeping cunt, “Wanna feel even better?” He asked. Well he was confident, wasn’t he? You nodded, looking up to see what he was working with. You probably should have been more intimidated than you were, but at that moment all you wanted was to make him feel as good as he had made you feel.

“Yea, I want do.” You confirmed, and he smiled smugly.

“Good girl.” He praised as he slowly sunk into you. You felt like you were being ripped apart in the most beautiful way. Your cunt weeping as it made accommodations for him. Your hands flew to his back, digging into him with enough time to feel him shudder on top of you from just how good you felt. You’d count that as a win.

“Fuck, it’s like you were made for me pretty girl,” He moaned, dragging himself out just to push back in, gracing your g-spot as he did. You moaned under him as he did, feeling yourself melt into a puddle of need and pleasure. “So fucking good.” He purred.

He tried to take it easy, to keep in mind that you had just came hard and were probably sensitive. He couldn’t help himself though. The way you pulled him in deeper and deeper with every thrust threw any semblance of sense out of his mind. All he could think about was how good you felt under him, and how fucking pretty every sound that came out of you was. He wanted to hear them all.

You were happy to make them all for him too, moaning pathetically under him with every push of his cock, every brush against your g-spot. You could feel your blood catch fire in your veins as he fucked you, felt yourself getting lost in the pleasure he was giving you. You felt electrified, your nervous system somehow fried and on high alert all at the same time. All you could think of was Ryomen, Ryomen, Ryomen as you felt a string of tensions knotting itself over and over in your stomach.

He pulled you impossibly closer to him, folding you into a mating press as he chased both of your highs. You instantly knew you weren’t going to last long in this new position, and all but screamed his name as you pulled at his hair.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Ryomen!” You yelled as the string inside of you finally snapped, all of the euphoria it was holding back hitting you like a god damn train. You felt your body shake, tendrils of pleasure lashing out from your core to your fingers and toes. It was like a whole body reset, your brain turning into a puddle of electrified endorphins.

He thought he was going to last longer than he ultimately did. But the way your cunt clenched around him coupled with the way your face screwed shut and how needy you sounded as you said his name- he was coming undone inside within a few more strokes, fucking the two of you through both of your climaxes before stilling, just barely managing not to collapse on top of you.

There was a quiet that settled over the two of you in your after glow as you both caught your breath. You whined as he pulled out, going from feeling so full to so empty and hating it. He just chuckled softly, falling next to you and pulling you into his side.

“So,” You started softly, “Am I still the property of The Syndicate orr?” You asked. He chuckled softly, remembering what he said to you on the night you met.

“No, not the Syndicate. You’re mine.” He confirmed for you.

“Isn’t that like…kinda the same thing?” You asked. He rolled his eyes. Of course you couldn't let him have his cute moment.

“Good night Y/n, we’ll talk in the morning.” He mumbled, deciding the best move would be to try and get some sleep. The two of you were going to have a lot to talk about in the morning.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #jjk mafia au #jujutsu kaisen mafia au #mob boss sukuna #mob boss sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader smut #ryomen sukuna x reader smut #jjk smut #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen x reader smut #mafia au

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ladyloveandjustice · 3 months

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My Favorite Continuing Manga I Read in 2023

I went into the brand new manga I read in this post, but here's an update on some great continuing series!

Shout out to She Loves to Cook and She Loves to Eat for having phenomenal storyline about find the courage to cut toxic family members off, which is pretty rare to see (in manga especially)! The story explores how your family can impose a relationship with food that harms you in many different ways, and how finding acceptance of your food habits helps you heal. It also continues to be a lovely exploration of queer adults finding themselves that makes the point that your experiences don't have to fit in a box. And I appreciate that they included a character who doesn't like eating that much for me to relate to! See my first review here,

Now for a quick word about the other great continuing manga I read:

- I Want to be a Wall really upped it's game and included a nuanced discussion about asexuality that I loved seeing. See first review here.

- Yuri is My Job is still the best lesbian drama manga around and hits hard. See previous discussion here,

- A Man and His Cat is still the sweetest and Yona of the Dawn is as action packed and intriguing as ever...I feel a climax slowly coming!

- A Bride’s Story is still wonderfully done historical fiction with lush art while How Do We Relationship continues to develop its web of queer relationships nicely.

- Witch Hat Atelier is still a wondrous story of magic, creativity, accessibility, and struggling under unfair systems, all told in a fascinating fantasy setting with loveable, complex characters and incredible art.

A lot of manga I like concluded this year too, so let's take a slightly longer look at the conclusions!

Dungeon Meshi- The conclusion to one of my favorite fantasy manga ever was fittingly bombastically weird and fully satisfying. It filled you up like good food should. Live well instead of being consumed by fear of death and loss. Eat well instead of working yourself to the bone and neglecting your needs. Follow your own path, but cherish your connections and get together for a good meal. This series and its intricate world and wonderful characters will stay with me for a long time.

Catch These Hands- See my first review here. I enjoyed the cute conclusion to this series, and it was nice to see a little ace rep and a message about not conforming to society's expectations of "adulthood". It's an ode to delinquent girls that a sukeban stan like me can get behind! A lot of the stuff that annoyed me in the second volume was mostly dropped for the third and fourth, so that's also nice.

Run Away With Me Girl- See my first review here. I wish this had been a little longer, but the conclusion worked well and was cathartic.

Doughnuts Under a Crescent Moon- See my first review here. A nice conclusion to a cute, slow-paced little romance series, with yet more ace rep!

The Two of Them are Pretty Much Like This- see my first review here. This conclusion felt a bit rushed, with plot lines still dangling, like it was cancelled early or something. But the series is still good overall, and I'll miss it.

My Love Mix Up -This sweet-as-pie series about cute gay misunderstandings leading to romance comes to a fittingly sweet conclusion. It's sad waving goodbye to these silly, good-hearted kids, but I'm satisfied with where they ended up.

#year in comics #manga #yuri #dungeon meshi #yuri is my job #witch hat atelier #she loves to cook and she loves to eat #a man and his cat #a bride's story #how do we relationship #doughnuts under a crescent moon #the two of them are pretty much like this #run away with me girl #my love mix up #akatsuki no yona #yona of the dawn #my reviews

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viviennevermillion · 10 months

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ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴄᴀʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴍʏ ʜᴀɴᴅ...

❝ I was made for loving you, even though we may be hopeless hearts just passing through; every bone screaming, I don't know what we should do ❞ — tori kelly

prompt: affection they crave but don't dare to ask for

character included: ei, wanderer, pantalone, baizhu

contains: character x gn!reader, established relationship

warnings: descriptions of suffering and chronic illness in baizhu's part

✧ holding your hand — Ei is touch starved after the centuries she has spent locking herself away in the Plane of Euthymia. She's used to people respecting her and even fearing her, but few actually treat her as an equal. How could they after all? She was an archon and she had ruled Inazuma with an iron fist for quite a while. So something as simple as you taking her hand into yours just as she remembers her friends doing ages ago.... it's hardly something self-evident to her. She has a lot to learn about how the world has changed during her absence. Sometimes she may be confused or have this serious, slightly intimidating look on her face. Nothing better in this moment than her beloved taking her hand, which instantly brings a smile to her face. Ei doesn't ask you to hold her hand, she doesn't want to come off as clingy, but everytime the two of you are out on a date she's silently hoping you'll do this small gesture again that makes her heart skip a beat.

✧ leaning your forehead against hers — Even an archon like the Raiden Shogun is not without troubles. Quite on the contrary, Ei has a lot of them after all that has happened. When her doubts and grief creep up on her, a gesture such as leaning your forehead against hers is like a silent promise to her that you'll be there even as the storm rages on in her mind. Your touch is soothing to her restless soul and as she feels your kindness and the extent of your love, she understands what it means to find her beloved eternity in something as simple as a fleeting moment with you.

✧ kissing her neck — Ei, when she appears in public, represents eternity both as an archon and a person. She's solid and radiates an aura of untouchability. Who could have thought that someone as her was incredibly ticklish? She likes the sensation of your lips against her neck, but it also tickles her sensitive skin, so you can hear a giggle escaping her that you might not have heard otherwise. If you're planning to tease her and fool around, a giggle might turn into a hearty laugh. You'd be sure to earn the respect of Inazuma's citizens if they were to learn that you could draw a laugh like that out of the woman who once watched these lands with such a cold gaze.

✧ letting her rest her head on your shoulder — Ei doesn't technically need to sleep. But the duties of the Shogun can be quite taxing. As such, she appreciates the opportunity to wind down in your presence and take some deep breaths after a stressful day. You can always tell when she's tired. She tends to close her eyes and let the cool wind hit her face. If you offer her to rest her head on your shoulder, she'll happily take you up on it. She'll keep her eyes shut, enjoying the closeness to you as she mumbles a quiet "thank you". She loves to sit idly like this for a while, simply relishing in the love you give her each day.

✧ sharing things with her — There's just something so intimate about doing things together and sharing what you enjoy with each other. At first, Ei found the idea of sharing a can of dango milk with two straws or an ice cream cup a little silly, not understanding how it could be any different from each of you getting your own food and drinks, but after trying it she really felt like she bonded with you over it.

✧ letting him sit on your lap — This is something he would never ask for over his dead body unless you tease the hell out of him repeatedly but he's been thinking about it ever since getting together with you. He's all too familiar with bickering and pushing you away, even when he doesn't want to; because he's scared of what would become of him; were he to face another devastating betrayal. He craves your affection but he spends his days waiting.... yearning for it. For how foolish would it look if you were to mock him and abandon him for craving something as cheesy and human as this? So he pushes down his feelings and just settles for whatever affection you decide to give him. Until one day there's no seating spot left for him and you grab his waist, gently pulling him onto your lap. You had no idea up to that point that your lover was capable of blushing. But he's silent and doesn't dare to move, lest you might push him off with a joking comment. As you pull him closer to your chest, he relaxes into your embrace and closes his eyes. Your lips find the soft skin of his neck and place a couple of appreciative kisses on it. Wanderer lets out a relaxed sigh and turns his head to you to press a kiss to your lips. "You seem to enjoy this", you remarked with a smile on your face. "I'm simply making sure you don't cry about not getting enough affection later. That'd be a bother", he huffs and you can't help but let out a chuckle, knowing him well enough by now to see through his facade. You make a note to do this more often.

✧ playing with his hair — This one is in your favor because he has really, really soft hair. You don't even remember when it happened but at some point, laying his head in your lap and letting you card your fingers through the dark strands has become his way of unwinding after a long day. He loved the experience of finally feeling safe and cared for in someone else's presence after he had been surrounded by people he was more than justified to distrust for the past centuries. Your touch was soothing, like a gentle breeze inviting him to a place far away from his troubles and doubts. Never did Wanderer believe that anything in his life could be considered "a blessing from the gods", but with you? Well, he wouldn't be surprised. Or maybe it was simply what you were like; giving your love to him in this often cold and cruel world without expecting anything in return; your care for him blossoming and persisting in this reality despite all odds.

✧ squeezing his thigh — He loves when you do this, whether it be when you have to get up and leave to attend some business or whether it's in reassurance; despite how he'd claim that he doesn't need your support and encouragement about anything. He'd feel much more lost without it. He also enjoys simply having you rest your hand on his thigh while you're sitting idly on the couch or a picnic blanket, each of you tending to your own matters and interests but always enjoying being together like this. It reminds him that you're there, something he needs when the thoughts of his past and the uncertainty about his future start to creep up on him.

✧ kissing his shoulders — He's very weak for this. He has no idea what the point was; for a puppet to have any sensitive spots. Wouldn't he have been more efficient if he could feel no affection or pain? After all, wouldn't life have been less hurtful like this? But in those moments; feeling your lips trail soft kisses along his shoulders; he was, for the first time, glad that he was like that. He closes his eyes and focuses solely on the pleasant tickle your pecks left on his skin.

✧ holding him in your arms — Pantalone may seem like a cold and serious business man on the outside, but he can't fool his beloved. That man is a hopeless romantic once you get him to trust you and he's clingy as hell. He's a little spoon and he loves when you hold him in your arms after a long day of work that you sometimes even have to coax him away from. He'll rest his head against your chest as you do him the favor of gently removing his glasses that he forgot he even still had on because of how tired he was. He lets out a happy sigh as you run your fingers through his dark locks and press a kiss to his forehead. He may not ask you to do this, but he always makes sure to express his gratitude to you for the love you give him. "Thank you for always taking care of me like this, my dearest", he mumbles and nuzzles your neck, "and getting me to sleep on time... I had no idea it was already midnight." He let out of chuckle and you shake your head with a disappointed sigh. Not a week went by where you didn't find him nodding off at his desk at least once; struggling to keep his eyes open and accidentally misspelling or repeating words on the report drafts he made. "You need to take some more time off", you whisper, gently caressing his cheeks. "The work of a Fatui Harbinger is tedious", he simply states. But if you could convince him to take breaks and get enough rest with your love and affection? Well, that was enough for now.

✧ listing the reasons you love him — This is something he needs from time to time. He vividly remembers his youth where he used to search for coins in the streets to buy himself a meal and was politely told to exit restaurants as his shabby looks might have a negative impact on the establishments' reputation if wealthy customers saw him like this, sitting alone at the table with half a meal because that was all he could afford. His popularity and desirability skyrocketed when he became a wealthy business man and the 9th harbinger. What could you love about him, if not his material possessions? There are moment, especially in the beginning of the relationship, where nothing helps him get over his doubts more than you holding him close and reminding him of how beautiful he was in your eyes; how you'd love him with every fiber of your being even if he had not a single coin to spare. That you adored how thoughtful, intelligent, ambitious and passionate he was. You loved the light-hearted moments in which Pantalone would joke around with you and attempt to tease you; as well as the quiet nights where he just couldn't help but to kiss you over and over again because his love for you was too much to just keep in his heart. You felt the same. That's why you let him know how much he means to you and all the little things you've grown to love about him.

✧ shoulder massages — He needs those because he has so much muscle tension, you weren't sure how his back didn't hurt every minute of the day. There's few things Pantalone appreciates more than having you massage his shoulders and help his muscles relax when he pulls what you had come to refer to as another "desk work marathon". Again, he doesn't ask for this but he makes sure to thank you, interrupting his work for a moment to give you a loving kiss and look into your eyes as he tells you that he loves you.

✧ holding his hand when he's sick — We all know Baizhu has some days where his ailment gets so bad that he has to stay in bed and can't go to work. It took him a long, long time to even let you see him during those moments of weakness. Usually he'd just lock himself in his bedroom with only Changsheng for company as he tried to get through his pain on his own. After all, to him, it seemed as though it probably would be burden enough for you to love a man you knew was slowly dying. You didn't need to see him suffer like this. Only after you insisted several times that you want to be there for him when he has a bad day; that it would worry you way less if you could support him and comfort him; he let you in. Baizhu feels bad for relying on your help when he's in this state, but simultaneously your presence soon becomes a remedy he wouldn't want to miss out on. When the pain makes his whole body sore and the dizziness and nausea makes him feel like he's never going to get up again and the temperature of his body feels as though the gods of cryo and pyro were having a brutal war in his quarters; there's also, through all the hurt, the feeling of your hand holding his. The sound of your voice reassuring him that he was going to be okay and that you were right there with him. "Just focus on my hand", you tell him with a gentle voice as you run your fingertips over his palm as you see him shiver in the bed next to you. "I'm sorry that-", he croaks out but you interrupt him. "There's nothing you need to apologize for, my love", you reassure him and press a kiss to his forehead.

✧ helping him during bad days — Similarly, it also takes Baizhu a while to warm up to the idea of letting you assist him when he's feeling sick; be it making him tea or soup, taking care of some of his documents or wrapping his calves in wet cloths to help with the fever. You can only shake your head upon learning that he used to try and do these things himself while in this state. Changsheng is more than grateful that she doesn't have to fuss over the doctor as much as she used to now that you're here. Despite his initial protests, Baizhu has to admit that getting through one of those days had become way easier with someone around who actually had arms. Changsheng could try to ease his pain and comfort him with words but carrying a plate of soup was outside of the realm of possibility for the white snake.

✧ braiding his hair — As much as you love to see your lover with his hair down, there's many situations in his profession where a braid is more hygienic and comfortable to have. So he appreciates just being able to relax and talk with you about anything that crosses your minds while you braid his hair. If you keep commenting on how soft it is and how beautiful you think Baizhu is, you're sure to get a blush out of the physician. "You're adorable when you're flustered", you tease and Baizhu is glad that you're braiding his hair so he doesn't have to make eye contact with you. Oftentimes, doing this will have you press a kiss or two to his neck to remind him of your love for him while you tend to his long hair.

✧ deep and loving kisses — Baizhu loves when you take the initiative and just hold him in your arms while kissing him slowly and repeatedly. He appreciates to just be able to forget about his quest for immortality and his illness like this for a while, simply focusing on the feeling of your lips on his and your tongue circling around his, pouring all your love for him into the gesture and mumbling a quiet "I love you" in-between them. He knew very well that humans had a habit of living fast and the days going by faster than you'd think they would, so he adores just being able to indulge you and focus on your touch as if time had frozen for just a moment. He lets you pull him into another kiss as many times as you like to, simply grateful to be loved like this by someone he treasures as much as you.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #baizhu x reader #baizhu x you #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #ei x reader #raiden shogun x reader #raiden ei x reader #raiden shogun #raiden ei #pantalone #scaramouche #baizhu

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cosmerelists · 1 year

Text

If Era 1 Mistborn and Stormlight characters met each other…

If the Era 1 Mistborn gang and the Stormlight characters happened to meet up, what would that be like?

[Includes spoilers through Rhythm of War & Era 1 Mistborn!] 1. Dalinar & Elend

Elend: And THEN the council voted ME out! Man, democracy is just so hard!

Dalinar: Have you considered straight-up tyranny?

Elend: A-actually, yeah. Unfortunately.

Elend: It just…works so well…

Dalinar: I know.

Dalinar: Let’s not dwell on it.

2. Shallan & Vin

Vin: My mom tried to kill me.

Shallan: Same.

Vin: Luckily I had my brother who cared for me. But he also had a cruel streak.

Shallan: Yeah—trust me, I know.

Vin: I trained as a thief & con artist for a while.

Shallan: Oh hey, me too! And that’s fun, but I also like wearing nice clothes and marrying someone socially above my station, you know?

Vin: Yeah, same!

Shallan: But also…I’ve murdered, just, so many people. Including family!

Vin: Killed my boyfriend’s dad.

Vin: And ex-fiancee.

Vin: And brother.

Shallan: Yeah, the murders just keep coming!

Vin: Crazy how that works.

3. Straff & Sadeas

Sadeas: Knifed in a hallway by my nemesis’s son. Right into the brain. Eye popped and everything.

Straff: Literally cut in half by a giant sword wielded by my son’s girlfriend. My horse, too.

Sadeas: Bro.

Straff: Bro.

4. Breeze & Sebarial

Breeze: Well, it certainly is nice to relax with a glass of wine & let the other characters make the jokes, isn’t it?

Sebarial: …why did I just get you wine??

5. Sazed & Sigzil

Sigzil: And as a Worldsinger, I learn about other places and then share that knowledge to bring people together.

Sazed: That’s simply wonderful! I think feruchemy would work so well for you!

Sigzil: It does seem like an amazing power.

Sazed: Also, do you ever want to, just…

Sigzil: …strangle Hoid?

Sazed: Yeah.

Sigzil: Yeah.

Kelsier: Yeah!!!

Sazed: Kelsier, get to your own section!

6. Spook & Lift

Lift: So you…eat metal. And it gives you powers?

Spook: Yeah. I get my power from burning Tin.

Lift: After you eat it?

Spook: After I eat it.

Lift: Sucks to be you! I get my power from PANCAKES.

7. Marsh & Navani

Marsh: …and with these metal spikes piercing my body, I gained a number of powers. Also immortality. Apparently.

Navani: I am so horrified. And so intrigued. You’re going to make SUCH good research!

Marsh: The horror doesn’t, you know, put you off?

Navani: Nah, you should have seen my last research partner.

8. TenSoon & Kaladin

Kaladin: So you are a…puppy?

TenSoon: Well, I have the ability to consume the bones of a canine and then take on this shape.

Kaladin: [nodding]

TenSoon: That doesn’t…disturb you at all?

Kaladin: I don’t know enough about dogs to judge.

9. Zane & Szeth

Zane: And basically, with the voice of God constantly in my ear encouraging me to kill, I did that! Kill, I mean.

Szeth: Obeying an unknown disembodied voice because you thought it might be god? What foolishness.

Zane: Didn’t you obey a rock?

Szeth: That was DIFFERENT.

10. Kelsier & Moash

Kelsier: The thing is—aristocrats just gotta be murdered, you know?

Kelsier: You look into their faces, see the reflection of their endless crimes, and just think, “Yup. Murder time.”

Kelsier: And some people are like, “Kelsier, stop murdering everyone!”

Kelsier: And it’s like—do I tell YOU not to do what YOU’RE good at?

Kelsier: I’m good at three things! Survival. Starting cults. And murder.

Moash: …

Moash: I think I love you.

#cosmerelists #mistborn #stormlight archive #Dalinar #Elend #Shallan #Vin #Straff #Sadeas #Breeze #Sebarial #Sazed #Sigzil #Spook #Lift #Marsh #Navani #TenSoon #Kaladin #Zane #Szeth #Keslier #Moash

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dandylovesturtles · 6 months

Note

Leo & Donnie, trick (Please no character death, thank you!)

This will make more sense if you read the previous trick or treat (the Leo and Draxum trick)

Unfortunately this has become. a whole Thing. I didn't plan for it, it just happened. I'm currently calling it the Sidelined AU

CWs: Internalized ableism, light passive suicidal ideation

---

Here's what being stuck in a demonic suit of armor for two days gets you:

Brittle bones.

No mystic powers.

Hovering brothers.

A catatonically depressed dad.

A catastrophic decrease in muscle mass.

Chronic fatigue.

A concerning amount of brain fog.

A bedroom on the ground floor (under construction).

Sensitivity to light and smell.

And a wheelchair. Apparently.

Donnie brought it in ten minutes ago, and he's spent that long infodumping about all the features he's built into it. Leo hasn't really kept up, because of the whole brain fog situation, and because he doesn't normally listen to infodumps of this length, anyway.

Instead he's been focused on keeping his lunch down. Something about the wheelchair twists his gut in a sharp way. It just feels so... final. Like if he sits down in that, he's officially given up.

Donnie is still rattling on. He's been smiling the whole time. Leo doesn't know what about his situation invites smiling.

(Some part of his brain, the less bitter and angry part, notes that it's the same smile Donnie has whenever he shows off new tech. Leo ignores that part of his brain.)

"Any questions?" Donnie asks him suddenly, and Leo blinks his way out of his own thoughts. Donnie is looking at him expectantly. Still smiling, his hands gesturing at his creation. The wheelchair. Leo's gut twists again and he swallows forcefully. Reaches over and sucks down the last of the water from his water bottle, and even that simple motion takes Herculean effort.

He's already forgotten what the question was, so he says, "No," because he feels that sums up all his feelings about the situation.

"Excellent," says Donnie, because he can't read a room to save his life. "Then do you want to take it for a test run?"

Leo stares at him so he doesn't have to look at the chair.

"No," he says again.

Finally, Donnie's smile falls. It morphs into something concerned, and Leo isn't sure he likes that any better.

"You said you were feeling alright," he says.

Sure, he did say that, because all he ever says when they ask how he's feeling is "alright." Well, that's not true. Sometimes it's "okay." Or "fine." Or, "Jeez, Raph, stop worrying about me before that chasm gets any bigger."

The point is, he did say he was feeling alright, but alright isn't good enough for... whatever this is.

He struggles over his words for a bit before finally getting out, "I don't need a wheelchair," which is the main point, as far a he's concerned.

Now Donnie's expression turns more frustrated. "Yes you do."

"No, I don't."

He sighs. "Leo, we've been over this. Your legs aren't strong enough to carry your weight, and you can't risk a fall in your condition. Do you want to be healing from a broken pelvis on top of everything else?"

He doesn't. But he doesn't say that, just stares stubbornly at Donnie to avoid looking at the chair.

"The wheelchair is only for now," says Donnie. "Once you've recovered enough, a walker, then a cane, or crutches. We've been over this-"

"I don't need a cane," says Leo, cutting him off. "Canes are for old people."

"They are not," Donnie argues. "They're for whoever needs them. Which includes you."

"I don't need one."

Donnie grumbles something under his breath that Leo can't hear, because damaged hearing is another one of the things being trapped in a demonic suit of armor for two days gets you. "Alright. Is there something wrong with my engineering?"

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, is there something unsatisfactory about the chair that I can fix so you would be more willing to use it." He gestures at it. "It's okay if my design isn't to your liking. I have others."

Leo shakes his head. "This isn't about your engineering." This isn't about you.

"Well maybe if we make it about my engineering then you'll stop being so stubborn!" Donnie snaps, and Leo feels his hackles rising.

"Oh, screw you, Donnie."

"Screw me?" Donnie spits back. "Screw me for trying to help and not just watch while my brother lets himself waste away! Yeah, screw me."

"You don't have to watch anything," Leo snaps back. "The door's right there."

"What's your end game here?" Donnie demands, taking an angry step forward. "You complain about Raph carrying you everywhere, but you aren't doing anything to fix your situation. You won't exercise, you won't use the wheelchair - you're giving up!"

"I'm not giving up!" Leo lies.

"Yes you are and I'm sick of watching it!"

"Then leave!"

Donnie opens his mouth like he wants to argue further, but then he throws his hands up and turns on his heel. "I'm done," he says, then stalks out. He tries to slam the curtain behind him as he leaves, but because it's a curtain it just ends up swinging back and forth.

Which means Leo can clearly see as Raph and Mikey duck out of sight.

"Donnie, maybe you shouldn't have-" Raph begins, but gets cut off.

"I'm not treating him with kid gloves. If he wants to rot in bed then let him."

"He's having a rough time, so-"

"You can keep coddling him. But I'm done."

Leo hears retreating footsteps, then a heavy sigh. Raph is still right outside his room.

It takes him a moment, but he pokes his head in eventually.

"Heeey buddy," he says, adopting his baby voice, and Leo wants to scream but he doesn't have the energy. "Need anything?"

"No. I'm fine," he says instead.

"You sure? Because Raphie can-"

"I'm fine," he says again, tired, and lays down so he can stare at the ceiling. "I'm just gonna sleep."

"...Okay. Night Leo."

He's gone and doesn't come back. Mikey doesn't come, either.

Leo regrets his decision a few minutes later, because all that yelling made his throat dry and painful, but his water bottle is empty, and he doesn't have the energy to get to the kitchen, and if he uses the chair...

He groans, pulling his blanket over his head. Already, the brain fog is turning his thoughts to white noise, and the fatigue is pulling him down. Thirsty or not, sleep will come.

Another thing being trapped in demonic suit of armor for two days gets you: a cure for insomnia.

#dandy fanfiction #dandy trick or treat #rise leo #rise donnie #rottmnt #sidelined au #cw internalized ableism #I can't believe this #things will improve I promise

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teyums · 1 year

Text

“Everyone knows. Everyone knows. She f*cks you.”

Ao’nung headcanon (no use of yn!)

⚠️ All characters are age 18 or over in this story. I will not write Ao’nung in a suggestive manner unless he is aged up.

Wc: 1.2k

I myself haven’t seen anyone write Ao’nung as submissive so I was happy to. And personally, I think this fits him way more hehe. 🤭

includes: suggestive/strong language.

part two

• Because Ao’nung is such a dickhead and so headstrong all the time, I think its pretty damn obvious that it’s merely a tough front he puts on to throw any one off from finding out he’s submissive as hell, especially you. He’s actually a sucker for the woman he loves. This man literally WORSHIPS the ground you walk on and he lives for that shit. That big and bad act is simply a disguise to hide the fact that he’s actually a bitch boy. He would definitely listen to whatever you say and follow your directions to a T.

•He’s had women pine after him before but they quickly gave up because he’s so damn rude, leaving him with zero potential mates before you came along. No other na’vi woman was willing to put up with his attitude, or better yet, see right through that shit and squash it like you did. Or maybe no other woman had the power to. The mere thought of you was enough to get this man off, he was like putty in your hands; completely infatuated with you.

Something in your bones always told you that bully act was one big bluff. The first time Ao’nung hurt your feelings while you were dating, you denied his want to touch you for two whole days. When he expressed his disapproval of your decision, you made him get on his knees and beg for forgiveness, or he wouldn’t be able to touch you for two weeks. Two weeks without touching you for Ao’nung would feel like two years. It’s not a surprise that he’s incredibly clingy and gets upset when he can’t be near you 24/7, so you knew exactly what to hold against him when he made you mad. Jeez, what a fuckin baby. Talk about mommy issues.

“Baby, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean it, will you forgive me?” He spoke softly and looked down at you with doe eyes, hoping to get off the hook and have this be over with. You stood in front of him and let out a dry laugh, arms crossed and expression unamused. Now he knew good and well you wouldn’t go that easy. Him being an entire foot taller than you didn’t phase you and he knew that. Some of the other men laughed when they would see a sight such as this. How is such a small, feeble woman controlling the olo’eyktan’s son like she’s his handler? What kind of spell did you put on him?

You stared up at Ao’nung through your long lashes, hard. Completely unwavered by his attempt at winning you over.

He sighed and reached for you, but before he could even brush a finger against your arm you swatted his hand away.

“You don’t get to touch.” You hissed, earning a whine and almost a frustrated stomp from the boy who seemed sooo tough.

God, you loved to see him squirm.

“Beg for it.” You demanded, your gaze mean and unfaltering. You didn’t feel bad, Ao’nung treated everyone else like this and you were simply giving him a taste of his own medicine. Besides, he liked it anyway. The boy has a thing for dominant women, who would have guessed.

He sighed, looking around at the other na’vi strolling on the beach and cursing under his breath. “Please, please forgive me.” He spoke, sounding so much smaller than before, both in voice and confidence.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Is this what you call begging, Ao’nung? That’s pathetic, you know better. Do not waste my time.”

“Ugh… right now? Like, here? People will see me.” He lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck and spoke in a hushed tone so nobody around would hear what he was saying. He had an image to uphold, the tough son of the olo’eyktan who didn’t take shit from anybody and gave shit to everybody. If anyone saw you controlling him like this, he feared it would damage his “reputation”. Or more so his ego.

You didn’t care though, this shit turned you on. And no matter how much he complained about it, you knew it turned him on too. He would never hide the way he looked at you as if he wanted to pounce, and his body gave him up as if you had offered it a cash reward.

“Fine, three weeks.” You responded plainly and shrugged after upping his timeout, turning on your heels to walk until he grabbed your wrist and sunk down to his knees before your footing could even change in the sand.

“Wait, wait! Please, my love… I’m sorry” He apologized, genuinely this time. You could hear the desperation in his voice and it made your core tingle with need. He held your smaller sized hand in both of his much larger ones and pressed his lips against the back of it, smothering it with kisses incessantly and apologizing between each one.

Ao’nung was aware of what he had just been told, no touching. But he couldn’t help himself, he needed his hands on you every minute of the day, whether it be him kissing the back of your hand as if you were royalty or you playing in his hair while he dozed away on your chest. At this point, you had long forgiven him but seeing this big so called ‘bully’ down on his knees in front of you to earn back something so simple as the right to touch you, made you hot. You raised an eyebrow and lifted your chin at him, taking your hand back and placing your hands on your hips in an attempt to look unimpressed.

His eyes widened slightly and he shook his head, wrapping his muscular arms around your torso he hugged you tightly from below.

“Please princess, I will do anything… whatever you want. I’ll be good from now on, I promise. Just take me off punishment.” He whined desperately, the side of his face pressed just below your navel, his grip on you strong.

Feeling your breath quietly catch in your throat as you watched him, you re-centered yourself to stop your legs from trembling. Many thoughts passed through your mind and you felt your skin heating up with his face pressed up against your body. You hummed, trying to decide on one of many options and gently brushing your fingers back between the lines of scalp next to his braids.

“Anything I want?” You cooed, chewing on your bottom lip slightly and earning an instant nod from the boy who was at your complete disposal.

“Ao’nung, up.” You beckoned and used your hand to raise his chin, seeing him look up at you in admiration from below as he quickly rose back to his feet at your direction. Taking his hand, you eyed him up and down deviously while he became more and more impatient with every second that passed. The shadow on his loincloth looked much different than it did when this conversation had started. The fabric was beginning to stretch, becoming taut and hinting at his arousal. He witnessed hunger and desire cloud your eyes, his tongue peeking out to lick at his bottom lip and his eyes watching you feverishly while he waited on your next move.

“Come.” You giggled, turning around and pulling him along like a lost puppy. A sigh of relief left his lips and the goofiest smile painted its way onto his face. You could damn near see the hearts flying in a halo around this boy’s head, he was so lovestruck. His ears perked up and his stride looked drunken as he allowed you to drag him back to your tent, his eyes falling to your backside and exposing how eager he was to fulfill whatever promise he had made to you.

a/n: Alright I’m back in my groove now yall! This was so fun to write and it came to me so easily. I’m a sucker for obedient men who do as they’re told, what can I say. 🫠 I’m not sure how far in detail i’ll go when it comes to smut with ao’nung or neteyam (aged up ofc). I do know that I’ll probably get requests for multiple parts so If I write more you might see an increase in strong language or suggestive/m🅰️ture themes but I’ll have to see about that. I hope you guys enjoyed! Please like and reblog if you can, it’s much appreciated. 💞

tag list ⬇️

@mcdonalds-playground

#avatar 2 #ao’nung x reader #ao’nung #avatar way of water #ao’nung x you #aonung #ao’nung x y/n #ao’nung smut #ao’nung x female reader #ao’nung fanfic

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asumofwords · 8 months

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Blood, grief, sadness, suicidal thoughts.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Oh boy, get the tissues ready. Mummy and daddy have returned to the Red Keep for their baby, and honestly? I think we have all been waiting for this reunion. Not long now till we finish this holy smokes! Enjoy <3

Chapter 106: The Rightful Heir

The room rushed around you as you stared at your parents.

How long had it been?

How long had it been since you last saw them?

Held them?

Rhaenyra’s eyes were filled with tears as she ran swiftly across the chambers towards you, her steps faltering as she saw you did not stand to meet her.

Buttoned high across her neck were her riding leathers, but across her chest was cuirass of a black armour, the insignia of your House raised at the front of it. Her long hair was braided and pulled back and away from her face, golden crown nestled amongst the silver strands.

She was dressed for battle.

They both were.

Daemon donned riding leather and armour alike. His hair was messed, braided back and half down, pressed against his scalp likely from the weight of his helmet, which was nowhere to be seen; tossed to the ground as he ran through the Keep with your mother in search of you.

Each pauldron was crafted to look as though they were dragon wings, curling down over the length of his shoulders and upper arms. Each rerebrace and and vambrace slotted over each other down his arms like dragon scales. The same for his chest piece and faulds, perfectly made to look like the belly scales of Caraxes, dripping down his body sharply, meanly.

A new set of armour you had not seen before, made for this moment.

“Y/n?” Rhaenyra whispered, almost in disbelief, head tilted as she looked at you.

But your fathers reaction was different.

He walked slowly, as though assessing a risk in the room, as though he was waiting for some unseen danger to reveal itself. As if you were being used as bait to lure the two of them out.

But it wasn't just his careful scouting of the chambers in search of his nephew, his eyes told another story. A story which entailed just how shocked he was to see you, in the way that you were, blood covered and crown atop your head. Your fathers mind not quite catching up to the image before him.

Daemon's eyes cast over Larys Strong’s body, jaw tensing, but then a small smirk twitched at the corner of his lips.

It reminded you so much of Aemond.

And yet you did not move towards them. You sat and watched as your parents looked up at you from the bottom of the Iron Throne. Questions on the tips of their tongues, barely held resolve vibrating in their bodies.

It was clear they wished to come to you, run to you and hold you, but they didn't, and all because you didn't take the first steps.

Your heart ached in your chest. You wished they could feel it. Feel how much you wished to run to them, to leap into their arms and feel their hands and lips against your cheeks and head. To smell their scents around you, and hold them to you finally, in ways that you had longed to for months on end.

But you could not move, like you had grown to the throne, flesh and bones curling around each pommel and blade that your weight sat heavily on. Unable to lift yourself from it as you leant back, gut churning with anxiety. But what was more, an unavoidable rage and anger prevented you.

Prevented you from giving up something you had given so much for.

The war.

The losses.

Aemond.

You breathed deeply.

“I’ve had some time to think.” You licked your lips, the skin dry and cracked as you spoke down to them, Rhaenyra’s posture stiffening, and Daemon’s eyes roaming your body rapidly, finally landing at the bloodied crown that sat atop your head.

"About what I have done." You continued, voice becoming louder, firmer, more authoritative, "What I have endured to sit here. What I have had to do to sit here. And the more I sit, the more I think; Why?”

Rhaenyra shifted on her spot, brows furrowed in concern as she looked over you, trying to assess if any of the blood that was drying upon your skin was yours, “Why what, my sweet?”

Your lungs expanded as you sucked in a deep breath, the sound of guards and men outside yelling, no doubt Rhaenyra and Daemon’s, claiming the Red Keep and Kings Landing.

But it was the bitterness of disdain that settled heavily upon your tongue, the anger that you would have to live forever more with your choices, the denial of it creeping across your skin.

In that moment, in those months you had been locked away, kept away, trapped, it was hard to not feel anger. To not feel hate. Or pain. Or anguish. To not feel righteous and justifiable disdain at all who did not suffer the way you had.

And so you channeled that rage, and you let it pour from you like a steady stream of fire.

“Why should I give the throne to you?” Your voice sounded foreign as it passed your lips. The presence of a silver haired man in your periphery as you spoke caused you to inhale sharply, blinking to try and get him out of your sight, “Why should you sit here, on a throne I have earnt with my blood? Why should you sit here, after all I have done to ensure it. After all I have lost. After all I have sacrificed.”

“Tala," Daughter, Daemon's voice rose, confusion, concern, and sorrow in his voice, "Skoros ēza-“ What has-, But your voice raised higher, angry and resentful as you interrupted him, Rhaenyra flinching at his side.

“-I have earnt this, more than you." You sneered down at them, "I have been raped and defiled for this throne." You watched their faces crumpled, "I have been beaten and mocked, before the court... The realm, to laugh at, to jest. Trapped and kept from my family in this vipers nest for a year! I have lost a child, and gained another to survive. To win this throne for you.” Your heart beat rapidly against your chest as blood rushed in your ears.

Rhaenyra’s face crumpled further, the softness of her eyebrows pulled down, and the violet of her eyes seemingly sparkling as tears gathered in the corners.

Even in her sorrows, she was beautiful.

Daemon however, looked enraged.

“But what have you done for me?” Your voice cracked, “You left me here.” You took a shuddering breath, watching as Rhaenyra shook her head in denial, chest rising and falling brokenly.

But then your voice hardened, lips twitching as you held back a sneer, "You made Jacaerys your successor, and me your Hand." You scoffed, "I have lost a dragon and gained another. I have been plucked from the sky and lived. The small folk say we are closer to Gods than man, but I must be a God if I am standing here today. If I sit where I sit. If I have survived what I have endured.”

Rhaenyra’s guards flooded the chambers, ensuring the safety of their Queen and King, eyes all cast up to you, their daughter, who sat upon the Iron Throne, Conquerors Crown atop her head.

Your knuckles gripped the arms of the throne tightly, blade of your dagger scrapping loudly against one of the swords as you leant forward, “It is I the eldest daughter, the Merciless Queen, who should sit this throne. I have earnt it. It is mine by right.”

Queen Rhaenyra’s brow hardened, and her lips pulled down as you spoke, though a traitorous tear escaped her eye, sliding down her face. Daemon shifted beside her, looking up at you through his white lashes, his jaw ticking and hands at his side flexing.

“So you are to depose me of the throne? Like my brother? Your own mother?” Her voice cut across the chambers.

Your nostrils flared, trying to push the tide that surged within you. But it built, just as it always did, rising and climbing inside of you, dragging you down into its cold and murky depths, suffocating you in its clutches.

It was sorrow.

Loss.

Grief.

You licked your lips again, voice crackling in the back of your throat as you felt your own tears prick at your eyes, "The thought of sitting here, despite me earning it with my own hands, is agonising, muña." Mother, You clutched a hand against your chest, wringing the bloodied chemise in your fist, and watched as Rhaenyra's head tilted to the side sadly.

"It fills me with sorrow, knowing that sitting here would mean to depose you. That it would be another usurpation of the Iron Throne. Another of my own mother, who I love dearly. Who I have suffered for months for. And my father. Kepa.” Father, Your lips shook as you spoke, a small sob falling from them as you said kepa.

A tear tracked down your cheek, “It tears my heart in two to even think of such a thing, the pain more mighty than what has been done to it these past moons.” You shook your head, clenching the arm of the throne, a sharp sting running up your fingertips, the blades of the slicing at the flesh that gripped them tightly, knuckles white.

“I did this all for you, muña. I stayed for you. Because I love you, because it is your birthright. Because it was my duty. So much so, that I have committed the most egregious of sins. I have done something that can never be undone." A loud sob filled the chambers, "I will never be whole again.”

It was quiet.

So very quiet in the throne chambers as you mother and father looked at you with tear filled eyes, wet tracks sliding down Rhaenyra's face. But they waited, they waited for you to continue, as they always have done, knowing that you had not had a chance to be open with them for so long, opening the door for you to speak your truth, which had been taken from you since the very moment you had arrived to the Red Keep.

Your chest ached, pain spreading across your body, and up your throat.

Was this how Aemond felt? When you betrayed him?

When you pierced his throat with the blade he had given you?

Was this how it felt when he looked up at you as he died?

That lump settled in the back of your throat once again as you desperately tried to swallow it.

“Iksan ēdrugī." I am tired, "I am weary, muña. Eman issare pryjatan, kepa." I have been broken, father. "And yet I sit on this throne, babe in my stomach; the son of the One-Eyed King." Rhaenyra's eyes widened, "A man I loved. A man I killed. And all for you. I pierced his throat with mine own dagger in our bed; a dagger he gifted me, to keep me safe from Aegon. And what did I do?” Another tear slid past your cheek.

"I betrayed him." You sneered, anger at yourself rising.

Daemon lifted a foot and set it on the first step below the throne, his hand holding Rhaenyra’s tightly for grounding. The both of them wishing to run to you, to hold you, to feel you with their hands and make sure you were real, and not an illusion.

But the chill was back. And Aemond's presence in your periphery became harder, and harder to ignore.

You wished it was anyone but him.

Lucerys, Helaena, even Larys.

But it was him.

And he was there.

Watching.

“If I give you this throne, what do I get?” Your tone became icy, emotionless and cold, the warmth having bled from the tip of your tongue as you tapped it at the back of your teeth, “What is my payment for months of rape and torture. Of Aegon! Of Aemond."

The anger was back, bursting through you like wildfire, uncontrollable and ungraspable. You couldn't stop it, couldn't stop the heat that continued to rise inside of you.

“Will you banish me to Dragonstone, never to be seen again? Will you strip me of my titles once more, and give them to Jacaerys? Will my actions have no reward? No recognition? Will you turncloak against your own daughter?”

Daemon’s eyes opened in horror before narrowing into slits, angry, remorseful, bereft, “Why didn’t you tell us?! I would have burnt the kingdom to the ground! We would have come for you!

“And then where would we be?!” You cried back, “Still crownless, with a broken daughter and a war once again. You have sat at Dragonstone growing fat from my achievements, none the wiser to my suffering as I have lost myself and my senses for this throne. So tell me, what do I get?”

You saw Aemond's body shift, directing his eye to your parents.

Watching.

Waiting.

Supporting.

A tear slid down Rhaenyra’s porcelain cheek, “Why did you let yourself suffer so? My sweet girl." She said sorrowfully, and a tear slid down your cheek, "What horrors have you been subjected to that you have not yet told us?" Her hand tensed in your fathers grip, and you watched as his thumb brushed over her skin to soothe her, to calm her. But you knew it was more for himself.

"Why did not call for us sooner?" She sobbed, and another piece of your heart broke, "We would have come to get you. What of the people we had here for you? The maids? The Maester? I would have died for you to come home. To come back to us.” Her voice crackled and broke at the end, her pale hand spread against the sigil of her breastplate, fingers digging into the cold metal.

You leant back in the throne and shut your eyes sadly, not being able to bear the sight of your parents looking so broken, so horrified, so remorseful for something they had no control over.

You had made your decision to stay.

Not them.

You breathed in, and your voice came out quieter this time, softer, the fire simmering in the background, “I sat in these walls and dreamt of you coming to save me. But you never did. And you couldn’t have. Because it would have been for naught. All my suffering, my blood spilt, it would have been for naught if I had sent that raven to you earlier." You opened your eyes to look down at them.

Daemon and Rhaenyra had crept up three steps more, as your eyes had been shut, desperate to get close to you. Desperate to hold you.

You continued, "And I had tried once. I wrote a letter, but quickly dashed that hope into the flames of the hearth and watched them burn away. I stayed because I knew it was my duty to do so.”

Duty.

All of it was for duty.

All of this had been for duty.

And what had duty done for you?

Nothing but losses.

You straightened yourself in your seat, tapping your dagger against the metal arm in thought, “I have conquered this throne by right, not just one King, but two. I did that, and alone no less. No one else. Me.” You raised your head high. “Aemond slayed Aegon for me. And I have slayed Aemond for you.”

The flames were back, and they licked at your face hotly.

“What could we possibly give you that could take this pain away?” Rhaenyra breathed, unsure of what to do, what to say, whilst Daemon stared at you the way you had stared at Aemond's corpse; with nothing but grief.

“What could we have possibly done without knowing the truth of what has happened here? I never wanted this for you, you forced my hand! I would have never let you come here if I had known you would suffer so." She all but cried.

You laughed humourlessly, “I am a fools Queen. A Queen, muña. The Broken Queen. The Queen Maker... And a Queen for a Day.”

Rhaenyra Targaryens face morphed into one of confusion before settling on shock, half blinking as another tear slid down her cheek. Daemon took another step towards you, but was held back by his wife, who’s arm was stretched out, keeping him from ascending any more stairs to you.

There was that anger again.

Anger that was not justifiably directed at them, and you knew it. You knew it to your core. But it still ate away at you, tearing at your flesh, and resolve, and strength, piece by piece. Sharp claws lashing at your heart with every word spoken.

They had been none the wiser to what had happened here, perhaps small whispers from the maids and Maester, but you had promised you would call for them, summon them with two little words if it became too much, if it became too violent, if it became the horrors that not even yourself could quite conceive just yet, but you hadn't. And it did not erase the hurt. It did not erase the pain.

And you were punishing yourself.

Keeping yourself from them. Hurting them. Lashing out at them, trying to be the worst version of yourself so that you could justify what you had just done in the mere early hours of the morning, before the sun had even risen.

Trying to justify that you were a worse monster than he had been. Trying to convince yourself that you deserved it. That you deserved the pain. The abandonment. The grief.

Because you betrayed him.

In his softest of moments, in his most honest of moments, in his most vulnerable of ones, you had betrayed him.

And how could you ever forgive yourself for that?

How could they ever forgive you for that if they knew the truth of it?

And they would.

They would know the whole truth of it.

And they would come to fear you, be horrified by their daughter, you were sure of it.

It nagged at the back of your head, like the scratching of Lucerys' whispers that had haunted you for months on end. A darkness in the back of your mind that you knew was yourself, a part of yourself you could never escape. A part of yourself that had always been there, that had been fed by the violence you had endured, and doubled in size in the violence you had committed.

It was there.

Just like it was there in him.

Always there.

To burn together.

Monster.

How could you ever do it?

How could you ever betray them?

You could not.

You would not.

If you did, you would die.

Your heart would stop beating itself, you were sure of that. It would still in your chest as it felt it would now, as though it would no longer beat for another. As though when Aemond's had stopped, yours had with it.

You couldn't do it.

You could not take this from them.

From her.

From your mother who had loved and raised you.

From your father who had done the same.

You would sooner throw yourself into the ocean, or onto the spikes at the bottom of Maegor's holdfast to be pierced upon, in a way you felt you deserved, and then, only then, would you be reunited with him. Would you get to hold him once more.

Would you get to love him, and never be threatened, or taken from him again.

Another tear fell.

You gave them a small smile, a sad smile, of regret, of sorrow, of mourning, “Let me have a moment more… Please.” You spoke quietly to them, and only to them.

Guards stationed themselves at the door to secure the chambers, the sounds of dragons flying above the Keep loud and ever present. You breathed in again, closing your eyes as you found the strength to speak once more.

“To see how it feels to sit on a throne I have earnt, and to know, that it was I who put you here. For never again shall I sit here. For after you, it will be Jacaerys, and then his heir, and their heir after. Let me be the Queen I was fated to be, if only a moment more.”

And so you sat, watched on by your mother and father as you felt the weight of the crown atop your head, the Conquerors Crown. A crown you had, by design, conquered.

The blood of the King drenched heavily atop your body, darkening your hair and skin and chemise, the sharp cold of the blades of the Iron Throne beneath you.

A crown forged in blood.

You stared at them, a moment more as they gave you the time you requested, watching as they stood stiffly, eyes shimmering with tears, their faces having fallen as you sat a moment more. And then, all too soon, your resolve and anger melted away, and a tidal wave of grief and relief flooded over you.

You stood shaikly, legs aching as you stretched to your full height, your parents looking up at you in anticipation, taking steps backwards away from the throne.

Your chest heaved, as you took one step, then another, and then flew down the steps and crashed into their waiting arms, Daemon lifting you off the stairs, turning you to face your mother, who buried her face into the crux of your neck. A small sob fell from her lips as they both held you tightly for the first time since you had left them at Dragonstone.

You cried, loudly, sobbing into Daemon, who cooed and kissed at the top of your head, fingers digging painfully into your flesh as he gripped you tightly. Making sure you could not leave him again.

Your father almost collapsed as you felt him cry and shake with you in his arms. Holding him so tightly to him you could scarcely breathe, hands shaking so violently that they almost vibrated.

“Ñuha byka vīlībāzmio.” My little warrior, He whispered into your blood clumped hair, “Issi ao ōdrikagon?” Are you hurt?

You sobbed louder, heart feeling like it would give out, stomach hardened and in pain with how it clenched, "Ñuha prūmia iksis pryjatan.” My heart is broken.

Rhaenyra hushed you gently, pressing a kiss thrice against your cheek, and oh how you missed it. How you missed the way she always did it, always in three's, always the same. Familiar. Yours. Hers. Whispering praise into your ear, promising that you were safe, that they were here now, that they loved you, that they came for you.

And they had.

“I loved him.” You wailed brokenly.

“We know.” Daemon whispered, smoothing your hair at your back.

“I’m with child. And I killed him. I killed the man I loved.” You bawled.

“Ñuha dōna riña.” My sweet girl, Rhaenyra took you from your fathers arms, and you buried your head into her neck, feeling Daemons heat behind you, gripping you tightly, as you inhaled her scent, "He would forgive you. I know he would. My brother would understand. He understood."

It didn't do much to help calm you, but it helped to reassure you that they were truly there, and that they were not a vision like your brother, or Helaena or-

You lifted your head, opening your eyes to the chambers behind Rhaenyra.

There, at the back of the room, hidden amongst the shadows, was the violet and sapphire gaze you would come to miss the most.

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